August 23- September 5, 2005
Bali , Indonesia
Balinese Journal
by Lois Joy

  Part 1: Life at Bali International Marina
View Balinese Journal photos part 1

  Tuesday, August 23: The race for dock space.

The big private motor yacht in “our” reserved space at the dock leaves at 0700. But the tide is too low to dare an exit out of our tight spot at the yucky anchorage that we have dubbed “the flats.” At 0730, the marina calls us. We are anxious to leave, knowing that all eyes in the flats are on that empty space ahead of XCatRiot , another Rally catamaran. Yes, we have a reservation, confirmed every day for the past three days at the marina manager's office. But we also know that the marina often operates on a “first come, first serve” basis. By 0800, we are ready to pull anchor.

  We edge up toward the mud bank while I bring in the anchor line at the bow, stopping the windlass every few feet to spray the mud off with the saltwater hose. Simultaneously, Gunter pays out the line in the back to keep our stern anchor set. We have never done such a maneuver. So far, so good. Suddenly, the winch stops; it cannot pull up more line. We drift sideways towards the sand bar. Gunter releases more line at the stern as we edge ahead, positioning the bow directly over the anchor. I manage to break it loose. I continue at an agonizingly slow pace. Winch. Hose. Winch. Hose. Finally, I can see crud and mud and a big plastic bag over the anchor! I bring it up all the way and bend down over the bow to get rid of the bag.

We maneuver Pacific Bliss back to the stern anchor by pulling in its chain. The captain of Gypsy Soul motors over in his dinghy to help us with the final pull. I spray the rope, then the muddy chain and finally the Fortress anchor itself as it pops out of the muck with one giant sucking sound. What a mess! Splattered mud all over the stern and steps of Pacific Bliss! Not the way I prefer to tie up at a dock. There is no help there to catch the lines, but with no wind, our entrance and tie-up is a piece of cake. That we have done before.

After spraying the Fortress and chain again and leaving it to dry, I hose down the entire boat using the saltwater hose. First coat of crud…gone! A final cleaning with fresh water will come later, after we are settled in. I spring into motion inside: strip the sheets, bag the laundry, pick up the rugs, sweep the floors, clean the bathroom—and finally—myself. The entry dance is done. Cool.

  Alison returns from her tour to Ubud. As we hug goodbye at the Yacht Club, I realize that she has been one of the most good-natured crews we've had on board Pacific Bliss. She never complained and never asked for us to be at a certain place at a certain time. She just took everything as it came. I am happy that we could get her to Bali in time for her to do some touring on her own. In those few days at Ubud, she crammed in a cooking class, a Batik class, and purchased a duffel full of gifts.

Gunter and I down ice-cold Bintangs and enjoy a leisurely lunch at the club. As the stress dissolves, he changes from Captain to loving husband; we have a delightful “pensioners nap” afterwards. I so look forward to our time in Ubud, getting this wonderful Captain off Pacific Bliss and into a romantic, non-yacht setting for a change! In fact, I would love to leave with him pronto, but he wants to wait until after Mi Gitana rafts up to us on Thursday. Also he plans to change port engine oil, etc., etc. Chores again. I'm picking up my laundry tomorrow, but after that, I'll be packed and ready. I want “outta” here.

Wednesday, August 24, 0630 : Sunrise over the Flats (But we're on a dock now!)

I take a photo of the flats where we were anchored until yesterday morning. The tide is low, but the rising sun somehow makes that mud OK, even strangely beautiful. I'll bet the blue and white monohull on its side in the low water doesn't see any beauty at low tide. NOT! Even the two green markers for the starboard side of the channel at the marina docks stands way up in the mud bank.

“Show that photo to Mi Gitana when they are here,” says Gunter.

“Don't worry. They'll see it all right. And not in a photo,” I reply. “At low tide, they will see that there is only a short distance between them, rafted to Pacific Bliss , and that mud bank. In between, huge pleasure craft like Quicksilver will storm on through close to both of us, bouncing on their wakes. But, hey, it's better than careening! See that careened boat over there on the flats?”

We talk about our plans in Bali, our plans for the rest of the season and then for going home—a round-trip ticket back from Langkawi, Malaysia to Houston, San Diego and back to Langkawi. We marvel over how good it is to be at a marina, on “solid ground” for us, no more worrying about the depth, the wind, the anchor holding, and how the next anchorage will be.

We shared this with Nicole yesterday, over a Bintang.

“The kind of cruising we do—especially in Indonesia —is like work,” she said. “But no one back home would believe me.”

But any cruiser would believe her! Especially with toddler Luna on board, it's double work for her. I recall a similar conversation with Michele: “Going home to San Diego each year is our holiday, our vacation, where we plan out the next year's travel. The implementation of that plan, that's work .”

A yachtie stops by to talk about the monohull careened on the bank. “How could they not have understood the situation first?”

Easy, I'm thinking. I recall the situation in Kalabahi, Alor—where even veteran sailors and circumnavigators were grounded. (See the story Kalabahi: Agro Festival and Anchor Dance.)

Gunter is already chipping out gunk from the track on the sliding glass door. I've already added solution to the port head. We're talking about lists and it isn't even 7 A.M.

We head to the Yacht Club for an American Breakfast : two eggs, two sausages, toast, half a grilled tomato, three grilled new potatoes, a mixed tropical juice, and Bali coffee—all for three U.S. dollars each. We may have lists and chores to do here, but cooking on board here is not one of them. Here, it does not pay to cook oneself. After six weeks in the backwaters of Indonesia , using up our stores, who's complaining?

It turns into a big chore day. It appears that the pampering Gunter promised me when we reached Bali will only occur when we get off this xxx### boat. Here, there's simply too much to do. The laundry part is easy; we pick up our three piles of neatly folded clothes and all the rugs for 150,000 rupiahs ($15 U.S). All that work and the convenience of merely dropping it off at the yacht club. Neat! But then the beds have to be made up again. I hang out our hand-painted Aitutaki summer spread to dry on the lifelines. As the temperature climbs, the humidity soars, and my clothes shrivel onto my body, I wash and dry all the floors and lay down the freshly washed rugs.

The hardest chore is filling the two tanks with diesel. There is no filling station at Bali Marina. The workers bring the diesel to your yacht on a cart. It takes three batches of four 22-liter jerry cans to top off our tanks, with diesel to spare now stored in the starboard locker. Unsure of the quality, we use the Baja filter. It is a two-person job, sitting on the deck steaming in the sun, dirty and diesel-splashed.

After a sponge bath we lie in our bed naked, still wet, with the fan on full-speed—we call it the Pacific Bliss evaporation cooling technique.

Thursday, August 25 th , 0700 : Croissants for breakfast

Gunter not only fixes me the Queen's coffee, he hands me a chocolate croissant.

“How did you get these?” I ask.

“When I went into Denpassar with the propane tank yesterday. Don't remind me of that mission. I had to take the taxi there and back twice. Turned out they wanted the regulator in order to fill the tank. Then when I came back, they still weren't sure they could fill it. They'll let me know today. If not, I'll dump it and buy another one here in Bali . I'm taking a chance, leaving for Singapore with only one tank.”

My Captain Gunter, who must have two of everything. Two hulls. Two engines. Two steering stations. Two ship's computers, one as a back-up. Two heads. Two diesel and water tanks…and now two propane tanks…but only one wife. A back-up plan for everything…except for me…I think. I hope.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I saw a bakery on the way back. ‘Stop, stop. Roti, roti .' I yelled to the driver. Then in addition to the bread I found these.”

Perhaps I can convince the Captain, who was up at 0500, to actually sit down and enjoy a croissant with me . He's already putzing around his mistress, Pacific Bliss . The sunrise is only a glimpse of orange this morning, in an 80% overcast sky. That's O.K. We would welcome a rain to wash down the boat and freshen the air.

I recall the miseries of the night before. The muggy air was suffocating and still as a corpse…so the no-see-ums and mosquitoes came out in force. They began devouring me in the afternoon, at the internet at the Yacht Club, and then when I returned to the Club to shower, they continued their feast. Out of three Ladies shower compartments, only one worked, if you could call it that. The cold water came out in a languid trickle—not enough for shampooing my hair. Black bugs climbed the walls. The concrete floor was dank and slippery.

I refuse to go back there again. Yet, the dockside water at Bali International Yacht Club is not potable, so we can't put that into our tank. And making water from the marina filth here is probably not a good idea.

But I have good memories about Yacht Club restaurant. Last night, we had dinner there with our friends, Les and Mike from Ichi . It was fun, as rapport with cruisers always is. Yet I dream about going to Ubud tomorrow. A hotel with all the amenities. Even air-conditioning. Yea! Bring it on, I say.

Part 2: Ubud, Bali
View Balinese Journal photos part 2

 

Saturday, August 27 th , 0700
Hotel Tjampuhan , Unit #3, Ubud
Life's Good Again

We are sitting on the terrace outside our room at the harmonious, aesthetic, Tjampuhan Hotel and Spa , sipping a Balinese coffee graciously delivered to us by a petite Indonesian waitress. She has carried the tray down three flights of stone steps hewed into the lush, luxuriant mountainside. “Life's good again,” says Gunter.

We didn't think we'd be here. At least not today. And that makes our pleasure all the more sweet. Delicious solitude. Quiet contemplation. But most of all, getting off that bloody boat!

A light rain sets in here in Ubud, dripping gently off the thatched eaves. Quite unlike that last, disastrous rain that befell us at Bali Marina in Benoa. In this tropical jungle paradise above a rushing river, far away from Pacific Bliss —our thoughts wander back to the trials and tribulations which we encountered in this sailing season. There were many, some planned, some unexpected, and all of them frustrating.
“I want to sell her when we get to Singapore ,” said Gunter on Thursday, when it all happened.

For once, I didn't disagree.

The next day, he was saying that we would end our circumnavigation attempt in Thailand . On the drive up to Ubud he said he wouldn't continue on from Thailand without a mechanic on board—someone like our friend Peter—who has not only sailed around the world twice, speaks Arabic, but knows boats. But the important thing is to know and understand boats—intimately—he went on, their vagaries, their inconsistencies, their downright fickleness.

Not knowing—or caring right now—where this line of conversation will lead, I am just happy to have Gunter all to myself, away from that capricious, troublesome and demanding mistress of his, Pacific Bliss . Perhaps here, we can contemplate and celebrate our ten years of marital bliss without that other Bliss interfering. It was here in Bali , back in 1995, that we spent our honeymoon. It's been quite a crazy rollercoaster ride since then: the highs of seeing the science work and taking our company public; the lows of dealing with impatient and interfering investors, plus the vagaries of the stock market. After we embraced the cruising life, retirement brought even wilder ups and downs.

On the way to Ubud, we were so worn and exhausted that we didn't even ask our driver to stop for temples, or woodcarvings, or even masks. We bypassed Mas, the delightful village where we had spent some time back in '95, the village we had planned to visit again.

“Direct to the hotel,” said Gunter curtly. “We'll see it all on the way back next Tuesday.” He turned to me. “OK?”

I was fine with that. I just wanted to get here and chill out. Upon arrival, we were seated on the leaf-print rattan sofa in the tastefully embellished reception lounge. We faced identical stone statues wearing the typical black-and-white checked skirts, adorned with delicate red hibiscus blossoms. When a beautiful Balinese lady in a purple-and-pink sarong kneeled in front of us to serve chilled fruit drinks with orchids perched on the glasses, I knew this was where I needed to be. Pampered. Protected. At peace.

A gentle rain falls into the lush river valley below us. Across from our balcony, young yellow-green plants sprout out of every crevice of the rock-and-concrete mini-temple; the entire hillside is glistening…burgeoning with life. A lone red hibiscus interrupts the greenscape. A brown-and-white fan-tailed bird flies up to the gold-skirted stone statue gracing the little temple. Three squirrels race up the tall majestic trees above the river. Birds call back and forth, their high notes overriding the deeper rushing of the water far below. I could sit out here on this balcony and write in my journal forever…that is, if we had food here.

But we don't. So by 10:30 A.M. , we climb to the restaurant to partake of a wonderful and filling breakfast buffet: an omelet made-to-order, sausages, delicate pastries, lots of fresh fruit, and tea—all included with our room.

“I feel hedonistic,” says Gunter after we return to our little retreat. He is reading his Dan Brown book, Deception Point . The open book flops onto his stomach as he dozes off. Good on him! The Captain needs that release after all the trauma of Thursday and Friday. As Gunter sleeps, I return to the terrace. I think back on the hectic days before we left Pacific Bliss .

At dinner Wednesday night at the Yacht Club, Les and Mike had joined our table to talk. The conversation covered cruising, weight loss, children, and ended up on the usual subject of fixing boats.

“ Pacific Bliss is now in a state of grace ,” I said.

“Better knock on wood if you say that,” warned Les.

Concerned, I knocked on the table twice. But obviously, it wasn't enough.

On Thursday morning, I had already started to pack for Ubud as I put away the rest of our laundry. I was so eager to go that I could barely contain my excitement. Then, after a leisurely breakfast at the Yacht Club, it began to rain.

“It's O.K., gives us a chance to wash down the boat with fresh water, said Gunter. We'll do that next after I finish changing the oil on the port engine.”

He was down in the engine room when it happened.

All of a sudden, I noticed the multimeter at the navigation station flashing…ST 7000 (the formal name of our ship's Raytheon computer, although we call him Ray. Then I heard the click…click…click of a relay. The center navigation button on our main control panel turned green all on its own. At the same time, the master 200-liter fridge light went out and the controller showing the temperature went blank.

“Come up, right now!” I called to Gunter. As he evaluated the situation, his face turned gray. His shirt was already sweat-stained from being closeted below with the rain (and 100% humidity); now rivulets of sweat were pouring off his brow.

“There goes our trip to Ubud,” he frowned. “This is major—we might not even be able to leave Bali for Singapore on time. Or if we do, it's hand steering and block ice. For 1000 miles.”

“I know,” I said. I felt a sickening knot in my stomach. I would go mad if I didn't get off this boat in Bali .

Gunter unplugged the electricity from dock power. Although the rainstorm had not brought lightning, it appeared that there had been a huge voltage spike. The panel continued to go crazy. Gunter checked the fridge. It was no longer cooling. He finished the oil change, then began to troubleshoot by crawling into the confined space underneath the navigation station. He opened the instrument panel with its maze of wires. French electrical engineering. An oxymoron.

We sat down to think through what to do next.

“Perhaps Mike on Ichi could help,” Gunter suggested.

He went over to their vessel on the other dock. But Mike's electrical expertise, he discovered, is in computers, such as laptop hard drives and software. I went to the Yacht Club to ask for information on an electrician. Wayan was recommended. I called for him to come out ASAP and explained the urgency—that we wanted to leave Pacific Bliss the following morning. Meanwhile, Les came by to return our Jimmy Cornell's World Cruising Routes. I lamented not going to Ubud.

“I didn't know your problem was that serious,” she said.

Soon thereafter, Eric, Captain of Rainbow Voyager, came by with his daughter Luna; he was taking care of her while Nicole went shopping. Eric turned out to be an excellent troubleshooter and was working all the problems through one by one when Wayan arrived. There had clearly been a power surge, but in addition, the troubleshooting turned up weaknesses and corrosion in our circuitry. While I watched Luna, the three men, in a few hours, got the systems jury-rigged so that they would work. From there, it would require more parts, switches, etc., which could be installed in Bali . Then the final work would have to be completed in Singapore .

  Mi Gitana had come in the mid-afternoon and rafted, as planned, alongside Pacific Bliss . After saying our hellos, I left by taxi to bring the regulator and pick up the propane tank in Denpassar—filled or not. We didn't want to leave it sitting there in the event we could still go to Ubud. I hadn't canceled our reservations yet, but I knew Gunter would not be satisfied with a jury-rigged Pacific Bliss .

When I returned, Gunter and Joe were sitting in the cockpit downing Dark & Stormys . It was a fitting drink since despair had settled in on Pacific Bliss . They were sharing cruising war stories. I joined them.

At least, the men had identified the problems. Now it was a matter of parts, mechanics and implementation. We had a pleasant dinner with Mi Gitana at the Yacht Club. Since they were rafted alongside, they agreed to watch Pacific Bliss . Joe would turn the fridge on and off manually by hotwiring the connection.

That night, Gunter and I bowed our heads and prayed for guidance and wisdom. I was still hoping for a miracle. Even so, we barely slept.

The next morning, Joe and Eric stopped by with switches and parts. Then Wayan appeared—with a new fridge controller and even an on/off switch for the new computer.

( The fridge problems had been traced to the control unit, which turned out to have a corroded circuit board. Wayan had taken the board home, cleaned it up, and repaired some burned tracks.)

I had ordered a taxi and driver for 1100. By 1120, everything was installed and Pacific Bliss was ready to go. There was no work left hanging.

“I'm happy,” said Captain Gunter as we carried our luggage along the dock. His navigator, yours truly, was ecstatic! By 1130, we were on our way to Ubud.

Right now, the Captain is sawing logs in our bed with the carved Balinese headboard…this after a good night's sleep. He really needed those zzz's. And your faithful scribe? I'm ready to join him soon, after thanking God again.

For God did answer our prayers—through Wayan, the electrician, and through Joe and Eric, and even though Les, who asked Eric to come over and help us. Yesterday afternoon, after relaxing and getting settled, we walked down and across the valley and up many flights of stone stairs to the large Temple on the property. There we looked down from all the statues of the diverse Hindu gods to the rushing river below. And gave thanks to our God, the Creator of all.

Sunday, August 28 th , 0730 : Praise God!

It's a wonderful world. It's a wonderful day…

The sun awakens the valley, infusing amber into the tall trees rimming the river as we make our ritual morning climb to breakfast. Red hibiscus blossoms have already been placed on either side of the three flights of stairs, all the way to the restaurant. Here at the top, a young Balinese woman kneels in her ankle-length sarong, her basket heaped with blossoms. She artfully positions orange chrysanthemum and red hibiscus blossoms on each step and statue. This is her morning task, an essential part of her job at the restaurant. Seated at a table overlooking the lush valley, I slowly sip my coffee and relish this special ambience that is Bali .

From our open window, we watch another worker who is carrying a tray of flowers and incense over to a statue of Buddha. He lights the incense and arranges the flowers. Then he bows his head and prays.

Gunter looks up from yesterday's Herald : “How much of all this ritual is just custom, and how much is religion, I wonder.” He doesn't expect an answer.

The drawn face is gone now. He is relaxed and centered. And so am I. In fact, this is the first morning I can remember, in weeks , that I feel truly rested, even a little energetic. I realize now what our bodies have been through since Darwin —emotionally and physically.

Yesterday, we swam in the cool, spring-fed pool surrounded by statues of monkeys rimming the cliff and frogs poised to jump from the pool's edge. Again, red hibiscus blossoms had been placed in every available crevice: alongside the ears of the monkeys, on the thighs of the frogs, and alongside the path to the pool.

After a change and a rest, we wound our way down to the Spa, here on the grounds below our bungalow. This is no ordinary Spa. It is difficult for me to put into words the indescribable beauty of this place. Later, I asked Gunter to walk through with a video camera to capture for me what words cannot.

The experience is the epitome of hedonism, the ultimate pursuit of pleasuring all the senses: A circulating waterway is routed down the steps and through the massage area, falling into a pool at the end. We are positioned on two single cots placed side by side in a small alcove carved out of the rocky hillside, overlooking the river far below. We have a team: an Indonesian masseur works on Gunter while a masseuse massages me. The gentle sounds of falling water nearby blend with the faraway rushing of the river. Birds sing while the wind gently rustles through the trees. The sweet smell of fresh flowers and blossoms permeates the damp air. The beginning of the massage is a sensuous touching—a bunching and squeezing of the muscles. During the latter part, the muscles are smoothed and stretched. At the end, the masseuse creates a sharp snap-snap of her hands at the top of my head. If letting out the tension through the skull is the goal, it certainly works! Afterwards, we are so languid that we can barely move.

———————————————————————————————————We had a late lunch of Balinese Pizza , basically what we would call a Hawaiian Pizza, layered with ham and pineapple. We shared a Caesar salad. Marvelous!

After lunch, we were ready for a walk around Ubud. We found little corners of beauty away all from the hustle and bustle of the main street with its insistent, omnipresent hawkers. On one splendid side street, we entered a door into a temple. There was no one there. In the dusty, deserted temple square, plates and bowls—hundreds of them—had been inserted into the concrete walls back when it was built—who knows how many hundreds of years ago I read nothing about this in either of our guidebooks. Discovering these hidden treasures is what makes Bali such a delight.

We purchased a few necessities at a mini-market, then walked along some side streets to window shop before the Legong Dance began at 1930 at the King's Palace. The tickets were 50,000 rupiahs each ($5.00 U.S. ) You can follow the link to read more about this ancient Balinese dance.

Sunday Afternoon: The Balinese Cooking Class

Most of our Sunday is taken up with the Bumbi Restaurant cooking class. We are the only students this day. Our instructor, the Head Chef for Bumbi, is a young, handsome, enthusiastic man with a good command of the English language gleaned from two years of university training. He is native Balinese.

The day begins at 0900 with a trip to the market, with running comments by the chef. What an eye opener! Because we arrive early, we have the opportunity to see the market open for the day. The women set up their wares while their children run and play, sometimes stopping to sift the seeds through their dirty hands. No one tells them to stop.

A line of women in bright sarongs, balancing trays of flowers and incense on their heads, file to a small market temple to present their offerings. The intense aroma of burning incense soon floats throughout the market.

“You can stand at the entrance to the temple to take photos,” says our chef-turned-guide. “But in order to step inside for a close-up, you would need to wear a skirt and cover your shoulders.”

“I know.” I take my photos from the doorway. Close enough. I want to be comfortable in my sleeveless top and shorts for the class to follow. I didn't expect a temple at the market. But of course, every process in the daily life of the Balinese requires an offering.

As the chef leads us through the stalls, we learn about the roots, spices and vegetables indigenous to Bali and how to recognize similar produce from other parts of Asia . We add these notes to the recipe book he has handed us.

Back at the restaurant, we cook six dishes plus a special of our own choosing; Gunter chooses mi goreng, (noodles)of course. We learn that desserts in Indonesia do not follow a meal in every day life; they are only for special occasions, although some sugar is used in teas and in sweet/sour dishes. No wonder the Indonesians remain so petite!

At the end of our class, we are treated to a fruit plate and punch as dessert. I am so full from tasting all the food we prepared that I can barely make room. The punch recipe is one I want to repeat: Put some rice wine, a little coconut milk, and a dash of lime into a tall glass. Then fill it to the brim with Sprite and ice. Refreshing!

During the afternoon, we force ourselves to walk off our feast. First, we amble through the outside of the market to look at Balinese dresses and sarongs (I fail to find any I like well enough to buy). We head south of Ubud's center for a few blocks, then back north across the river, past many delightful restaurant settings, and back. After all this walking and shopping, right across the street from our hotel, I find a dress to wear to the SailAsia Gala Dinner ; it is made of cotton muslin in natural-color, a simple ankle-length style with Balinese figures in black elegantly bordering the hem. That dress can be my mainstay for evenings out. Over its strappy, low-cut bodice, I can always add an Indonesian ikat sash or wrap for color.

Returning to our hotel, we cool off by swimming a few laps. Still full, we skip dinner. In the evening, we view a DVD called National Treasure , lounging on old stuffed sofas with other guests in the hotel's Movie House . Afterwards, we go to the restaurant for tea, succumbing there to the dessert-of-the-day: apple pie made with the palm sugar (a dark, caramel brown sugar used in recipes here) with a little scoop of sorbet.

Monday, August 29 th , 0820 : Sweet Love

The rain is drenching our vista of green—but there is sunshine in our hearts this morning as I have my first cup of coffee, here at the restaurant at Hotel Tjampuhan . I didn't want to ring for room service; I couldn't bear to ask those girls to take a tray all the way down those slippery steps. Instead, Gunter and I found something better to do. We took a relaxing bath filled with the contents of a salts-oils-and-soap satchel I bought at the market. I lit the cute little flower candle that came with it. It burned for about five minutes, and then it was done! Even so, it set the mood for love.

I stop my writing to blow a kiss to Gunter who is reading The Economist , commenting occasionally. I have finished my coffee, a delicate croissant, and a little plate of fruit squirted with lime. Now I return to the buffet for some fried rice, grilled tomato and crepes filled with a simple banana/palm sugar mash. I can't resist. If you want to lose weight, don't come here!

The Monkey Forest and Wibawa Spa

We wait until the rain subsides, then walk through this park on the outskirts of Ubud. We carry our umbrellas, folding and unfolding, as the rain starts and stops. In between, when the rain eases, I take some nice close-ups. At the end of the path, a mother monkey and her baby pose as if she wants her baby's photo taken, in common with all mothers everywhere! The monkeys here are used to being fed; they are very aggressive. A big one snatches the rest of Gunter's plastic bag with bananas he has purchased at the stall at the entrance. He runs off with it. Gunter's startled face says it all as onlookers laugh!

We treat ourselves to pedicures at the Wibawa Spa, a wonderful setting with lily pad pools and walkways lined with flowering trees. We are seated in giant sling-back chairs on a platform with a bed at the end. Two girls wash our feet then work on them. Gunter is so mellow that he leans back in his big chair and falls asleep. Halfway through our pedicure, the girls bring round woven-rattan plates of fruit artistically arranged on an oval banana leaf with a flower in the center. Afterwards, the girls serve tea. We had obtained a coupon, available anywhere, for 40% off. Our bill comes to the equivalent of US $8 each, including the fruit, tea and one and a half hours of bliss.

We walk for awhile, then stop at a café where we lie alongside a table on cushions, Roman-style, enjoying iced coffee and dessert. Gunter leaves for our room to lounge in air-conditioning while I shop in the heat of the afternoon, from 1500 – 1700, for souvenirs to take home. Christmas gifts. The shops along Monkey Forest Drive are mostly empty and it is much easier than braving the hawkers at the open market. My savings there would have been $4-$5 for the entire lot, hardly worth the effort of carrying bags in the heat and humidity. I purchase six woven place settings, two sarongs, three wooden figures (pot-sitters), shoes, and a few bracelets and necklaces. Three bags full of gifts and I am hard pressed to spend all the money I pulled out of the ATM. I have plenty of rupiahs left. I catch a ride back to our hotel—with the three bags—on the back of a motorcycle for the equivalent of $1.50.

 
The Trance Dance.

In the evening, we attend the Kechak Fire and Trance Dances at the Pura Dalem temple across the river, on the main street not far from our hotel. Kechak is a unique Balinese dance in which the artists are accompanied by a choir of 100 men rather than the traditional gamelan orchestra. Its origins can be traced to an ancient dance ritual called Sanghyang (or Trance Dance).

The dance has a powerful opening. One hundred men—dressed only in black-and-white checkered saris with red waistbands—pour out of the palace and down the steps to the flaming torches at the center of the dirt square that serves as the stage. The choir symbolizes an army of monkeys. Westerners called the Kecak (sometimes spelled Kechak ), the monkey dance . Gunter calls it the Ketchup dance. It is a secular art form that embodies the spiritual and aesthetic elements of both ancient and modern Balinese cultural traditions. But the roots of the dance can be traced to the spiritual realm. Although the dance combines vocal music, dance and drama, the essence and soul of Kechak lies in the intricate vocal chanting, the complex multi-layered sounds of “cak, cak, cak.”

Only in the 1930s, was Kecak taken out of the sacred realm and developed into Kecak Ramayana , the performance we saw last night. The name Walter Spies again comes into play. (His old residence is on our hotel property.) He invented the choreography for a 1930s film. It was inspired by the chorus found in the sacred trance dance (Sanghyang) and the sound of a chattering crowd of men crouched watching a cockfight. A central person in a state of trance communicates with a god or ancestor, while the surrounding chorus of men rhythmically chants “Kecak, Kecak, Kecak,” which further encourages the trance-like state. The dance itself is based on an episode from the Ramayana, and tells the story of when Sita is abducted by Ravana and subsequently rescued by an army of monkeys.

For the fire dance, a bonfire is made with coconut husks. When the Sanghyang song leads the entranced man on a wooden horse to the fire, he appears to dance in the fire in an enhanced state. He scatters the coals of the husks all around as he dances through the fire, making it all the more dramatic. Burning embers and husks are now spread all over the bricked dance area. Then “spreaders” come out to sweep the husks back to the center. The same dancer repeats this routine many times. I feel sorry for him—his feet will surely be burned by the end! He bows to the audience, sits down, feet pointing up, with the audience presenting bills to him on the ground between his spread-eagle legs. Those who give him a tip have the opportunity to look at his feet. I walk up to the dancer and place a 5,000- rupiah bill in front of him. The soles and sides of his feet are so blackened by the coals that I can't tell in the darkness whether they are burnt or not. But higher up on his calves, there are a couple of spots, the size of a nickel, where the skin is definitely burned off.

“A use for Flammazine,” says Günter, after I return to my seat in the stands. I wondered whether the poor man would get any treatment at all.

Tuesday, August 30 th , 0630 : On the Way Back to Benoa

“It's raining again.”

“But it's soothing,” says Gunter. It's even cool as we sit here on our terrace for the last time, in our lap-laps , as Gunter calls them— saris and sarongs —the universal island dress. The coolness is refreshing. I wonder whether the rain and coolness will reach Bali Marina. I doubt it.

Well, the rain lessens our options. I'd planned to walk across to the temple, down and up the valley, and hoped to do a video walk-through of the “spa where a river runs through it.” But the rain begins to pour now, right after our coffee is delivered. Perhaps I'll write a little before our 1100 pickup. And pack, of course.

I feel content here. This setting has had the hoped for healing effect. It has put me in touch with my soul. Gunter is also content. Today, we do not have an urgent need to shop, to buy, to see…we just want to relax and enjoy. We talk this about repeating the off-the-boat experience again before we leave, but in another setting, perhaps a beach bungalow, one with shopping and restaurants within walking distance.

The rain eases sufficiently for us to take a photo-and-video walk past through the Spa and up to the temple. We forgot to spray, so we keep moving fast.

The landscape is even more green and vibrant after the rain. The hibiscus blossoms along the way add a touch of stark color whenever they are placed: on the statues, at the temple, even inserted into the staghorn ferns parasitically attached to tall forest trees. At the temple, a multitude of offerings have been set up. The incense smells acrid, doused by the rain. Over the railing, we peer at the river, charging now over the rocks.

Back at our bungalow, four workers come to collect our bags. Niko, our driver, waits at the reception; he has returned promptly at 1100.

Funerals and Woodcarvings.

We detour around the countryside to avoid the throngs pouring into Ubud for the big cremation ceremony. The grandson of an Ubud king has died. Across from the King's Palace, we had observed a humungous tower being built, made of bamboo and held together with white strips of cloth. It looked like one giant tinker toy. We photographed the big bull that is to be part of the ceremony. August 30 th turns out to be an auspicious day for cremations. Five will be cremated in Ubud alone, Niko informs us. All along the way, in almost every little village, roads are blocked off as funeral processions come through. The body is put inside a huge bull (or cow in the case of a woman) then set on fire. The tower is used in the process.

We stop at an awesome woodcarving place, then at the silver village, and finally at a batik store in Mas, on our way home. At the silver store, Gunter buys me a pau shell necklace and earrings, a new silver chain, and a silver gecko pendant. At the batik store, I buy him a patterned shirt. We top off our purchase with a quilted batik shopping bag in shades of purple.

 

Part 3: Cruising Talk

The SailAsia Gala Dinner

I wear my new dress, new jewelry and new shoes. It's fun to dress up for a change. Michele hops over the rail from MiGitana , still rafted to Pacific Bliss. She has made blended mango daiquiris. We savor them slowly, seated in the cockpit, before going over to the Yacht Club.

The food is celebratory Balinese: a high tower of rice with various toppings placed around it. The tradition is for the oldest man at the table to serve from the top of the tower. It is considered a position of honor, since the elderly are held in high esteem throughout Asia . The waiter automatically gives the serving spoon to a cruiser who is turning 65, until I tell him that Gunter is turning 70. The cruisers around the table are surprised, saying that he doesn't look his age.

There is a short dancing show, and then we cruisers are invited on stage to dance. Few take part; we have already done this so much in the Indonesian villages along the way. Mostly, it is talk, talk, talk all evening among these sailors who haven't seen each other for quite some time, since all have gone their separate ways. Bad luck stories are recounted all around. My stories are mild in comparison: the Bali Belly story, then the burn story—nothing serious. Kirsten is really depressed…back on Cinderella , Hans has a high fever. They will take him for blood tests tomorrow. If it is malaria, it is the first case among the fleet. Tonight, she has had it with Indonesian cruising, the never-ending bureaucracy; the anchorages that are either too shallow or too deep; Dick's organization—or lack thereof—especially in giving out unverified waypoints, a no-no in sailing. I sit at the table with Les and Mike for awhile, surprised that they want to sell Ichi in Singapore They have been cruising since '94. There is heavy complaining by those still at anchor in the flats, waiting for room at the marina dock.

No one is looking forward to sailing to Singapore . We kid around that a good-paying job for Indonesians here would be to get their Captain's licenses and take the Rally boats on to Singapore . Then their owners would just loll at the beach at a seaside hotel and merely fly over to join their vessel. There would be a lot of takers on that deal tonight. In the light of day thoughl, I think most would change their mind about trusting anyone else to captain their vessel!

September 2, 2005: More talk, more plans.

I feel much better now about our voyage to Singapore . We have a good plan. Yesterday, we had Noen, our crew, over to familiarize him with Pacific Bliss , find out his food preferences, and discuss our passage. He likes our idea of going straight through for six days to the Riau island group. That's the island group he knows well from his childhood. He's happy to show us these islands, which cruisers rarely visit, as our reward for letting him sail with us from Bali to Singapore . In fact, Noen has already talked to friends who own powerboats and convinced them to take us on a tour. So we talk about going all the way to Nongsa Marina and then taking island tours from there. That way, we don't risk Pacific Bliss on the many reefs in that area. I am impressed with Noen and think he will be a good crew; he's very enthusiastic about “sailing with such a nice boat,” and is eager to learn from Captain Gunter.

We have an interesting discussion about Captains' nationalities and personalities—and the yachts they choose that reflect both. This could be a good subject for an article! Having completed the U of Hawaii program in tourism, Noen is interested in writing and photography, so we plan to have a good discussion underway!

We invite Kirsten and Hans of Cinderella over to join our happy hour. All is well—no malaria, thank God. I really love this couple. It is refreshing to see them back in good spirits.

There is nothing more heart-rending than to see a cruising yacht up on a reef. We have seen that many times during our circumnavigation, and now we see it again—right at one of the entrance reefs to the Sanur anchorage, where we first anchored upon entering Bali (see Passage to Bali story). The ill-fated vessel has lost both masts, swerving to avoid a fishing boat coming through. It turns out that Hans and Kirsten knows Bob, a single handler and the owner of Friendship . His SuperMaramu is now berthed at the dock across from Pacific Bliss . Nice man. We feel for him.

Part 4: Our Sanur Beach “Vacation”
View Balinese Journal photos part 4

Monday, September 5 th

This is our fourth and last night at the Gazebo Beach Hotel in Sanur. We have enjoyed it here—it has been a true vacation—not a revitalizing retreat like Hotel Tjampuhan in Ubud, but a place to have everything EASY …a short flat walk to the breakfast area overlooking the beach surf, a swimming pool right outside our room (with a temperature almost like that of a Jacuzzi), another larger pool closer to the beach restaurant and bar, and massages near the beach at our beck and call. There is CNN and HBO in our air-conditioned rooms; shops, restaurants, even a bakery nearby; and an internet (broadband) and a beauty shop street side. What more could we want?

I am writing this as I sit in the lounge chair at the nearby pool, having ordered a coffee delivered via room service. Gunter is swimming. I have pried him loose from the 0700 CNN report on the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans , followed by a commentary lambasting President Bush for not acting better and sooner. Perhaps cable news wasn't such a good idea! Here in Bali , we have been largely insulated from the crush of world events.

“I want to write surrounded by beauty this morning,” I pleaded.

The sun has just broken out, illuminating the array of potted bougainvilleas in red, fuchsia, salmon and white at the pool's end. Two cement deities pour jars of water into the side of the pool. Birds sing and flutter from the palms to the magnolias. A light breeze brings an ambrosia of scents—hibiscus, frangipani, and birds of paradise. I want to soak up all the beauty and scent of land, because soon we will be sailing again, enveloped by blue upon blue and the scent of the sea.

Joe and Michele have booked a bungalow right next door; in fact, they are the ones who found this little paradise. We had a wonderful birthday party for Joe on Saturday night…sipping champagne by our little pool while he opened gifts of T-shirts and batik. Our sundowners were followed by dinner at an Italian restaurant down the street—a rare experience in Indonesia , but Bali seems to have everything! Shopping here has been great with Michele. She had a good eye and is expert at bargaining. We have had a wonderful time with them as neighbors.

Yesterday, after following a lot of dead-end leads, we find an Indonesian Christian church at the Paradise Sanur Hotel. The room was packed with about 200 believers. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the opening music was at an end. But the songs at the close of the service were fantastic, and sung in English. This surprised us, since the sermon was in Indonesian. A nice young man in the row of chairs behind us translated throughout. It turned out to be an excellent, relevant-to-today sermon on family living.

Philippians 4:13 was the key verse: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I prayed for flood victims in Louisiana , and for my children and grandchildren, especially for one who is going through a difficult time right now. That's all we can do; just pray.

Upon returning to the marina, Gunter talks Wences out of beaching his Catana 471 catamaran, Simpatica, on the mud flats to install their recently delivered sail drive. Between the tides, they would have only six hours to change it, and if anything happens they will have a flooded hull when the water rises again. Gunter invites them to sail with their one engine the 1000 miles straight through to Singapore with Pacific Bliss as a buddy boat, and promises to stay within eyesight all the while. Wences accepts the offer. And so our next adventure begins, a 7-day, 1000-mile, non-stop Passage to Singapore .