darren simpson

jan/feb 09   Sapa Viet nam

…..After a few days battling strep throat and fever in Hanoi,i took the 8 hour night train to the Vietnamese/Chinese border-town of Lao Cai,..  45 minutes and a 2 dollar minibus from the train station had me back in the mountains of Viet Nam..Paging through my passport,i realize i already have 7 visas for this country,this,my sixth journey to these mountains.The friends i have here,..the kids i teach english to..the families i have been adopted by,have no idea i am back.Homecoming surprises always go over well.Despite having seen this region in all four seasons..and multiple promises to make attempts,..i have never been able to manage a trip during Tet…the lunar new year.All that changes with this visa.

….SaPa is one of my favorite places on earth.An alp-like town,it sits beneath the highest peak in Viet Nam,..and above the minority hill tribe villages of Lao Chai,Tavan and Giang ta Chai.The streets are swarmed with Hmong,Dzao,Dao hilltribes selling their crafts and textiles to passing tourists.Enough trips here and recognizable by name to many of the tribes..i am spared most of the sales dialogue.Instead of the customary where are you from,..what is your name?.. you buy from me..?..”..i am often warmly greeted by..”darren…when you come back?.how long you stay?..one month?…does..Sui,Sho..Chu..Chi..Zon,Song..Sang..Mango..etc,,…know you are here?….If they don’t,,they will soon.Words spreads fast here,..gossip even quicker.
A  friendship and connection to some Hmong children 6 years ago,,has blossomed into
indoctrination to many families.Celebrating Tet with them will be similar to a Thanksgiving family reunion dinner that lasts a week.

..Checked into an icy cold room for 7 dollars night,i headed back thru the foggy streets to see my friend Thang at his Nature Bar and Restaurant.Over the past few trips we have forged a great friendship,.the woodburning fireplace the location of many late night talks,bouts of laughter,and occasional wake ups.On cold,wet winter days such as this,..he has opened up his restaurant to me…and allowed me to bring a small clan of kids in to teach english to.A background soundtrack of giggling,..endless recitations of A,B,C,s…1,2,3,s..,and the volleying of Hmong,Vietnamese,and English languages have never ceased his constant support and kindness.The look/smile on his just woken face when i walked in unannounced was worth a trip across the world alone.Huddled around the fire sipping green tea,we get caught up on the past years events in each others lives…the,good,bad and ugly.His daughter Chum,who i held in my arms as a small baby now races around the restaurant…his wife Nga,busier than ever having inherited the new duties of containing Chums’ new found speediness and agility.Good health,strong business and a recently secured renewed 2 year lease on the building,all signs of good things to come in the Year of the Ox.Sufficiently fueled by tea,the scent of burning wood in my clothes,.i bundled up and headed down to the villages to surprise “my” Hmong families.

Vietnamese karaoke plays on the television in the background while the men of the family prepare the new years’altar.Like stringing the lights on the christmas tree,this project is set aside for the guys.A blue paper background is pasted to the rear wall of the hut,a representation of sky and sea.The sun,moon,and stars are added in gold foil and surrounded by cutouts of fish,chicken and horses.In this”perfect” universe all creatures and elements exist peacefully together.Last years altar had already been peeled off by the time i arrived in Shos’ household,the weathered paper and decorations,swept up on the dirt floor and piled beneath the new prayer stand.I can sense the coming of a fire.
…While the men prepare the altar,.the women are busy completing the production of the new years clothes.Huddled together,a less formal”stitch and bitch”session is underway as the all the gossip of the village is passed around.My unannounced arrival has caused quite a stir,and it has been determined that i need a new wardrobe as well.Suis’mother begins work on the jacket,,,my hosts..Shos’family will handle the
pants and vest.The course hemp based fabric has been sitting in barrels of local grown indigo for weeks,.The blue sheen is iridescent,.and leaves its mark everywhere.In three days i will join the families and take part in the tradition of “going walking”.On the second day of Tet,..the villages empty,.and everyone,young and old heads to the main road that runs along the ridge,and parade back and forth along a 2km stretch of road.
Like peacocks showing off their colors..the boys flirt with the girls,eyeing up future brides…the girls giggling pretending that they don’t enjoy all the attention.
…Sho has invited me to spend a few days living with her family in the village..and i seize the opportunity to get an inside look into the many rituals that take place over the course of this old tradition.After a night of eating and drinking rice wine in the small hut,i am woken by the sound of a squeeling pig.Blurry-eyed,i check the time…5:00am..i am the last to rise. “Darren..you lankey..(hmong for lazy)..come look..we kill the pig”.Standing up from my cozy bamboo platform bed next to the fire…i realize that the entire family is outside..the women holding flashlights as the men wrestle a 110 kilo pig to the ground.The sound of the shrieking pig,excited voices of the young children..and the barking orders of the menfolk  has me questioning my choices.After a brief scuffle and near escape…Porky has had his feet tied together,.and on the count of E,O Bay…1,2,3…is hoisted into the air,and carried into the kitchen and plopped down onto the table.Before i have even taken a stroll to the river for my morning ritual,,Shos’brother has slipped a razor sharp knife into the neck of the now screaming pig..while her niece Chu holds a small pail collecting the stream of blood.A latte and croissant are a long shot.The next two hours are spent shaving,quartering and butchering the huge carcass,while the family and i watch.
Yearly sacrifice complete.,the majority of the blood washed away,a,.i hopped on a moto bike back to Sapa,.to pick up a change of clothes,and scoop up Ruben.The flying Dutchmen,fresh into viet nam decided to head to the mountains to meet me for some of the festivities.A few hours later we are back in the village.,Shos family opening the door to my friend as if he was their own.

The new clothes and altar nearly complete..,sacrificial pig hanging from various parts of the house,and cooking in an assortment of ways…the holiday turns to the spirits.The ancestors need to be acknowledged..and the evil spirits that live in the valley need to be appeased,.and run off.No simple task,it begins with the mother of the house falling into a trance-like chant in front of the newly erected altar.Brass rattle in hand..she recites stories and tales that have been passed down for generations,as her husband,on command…sets fire to the remains of the previous years altar.Offerings of rice wine are placed on the altar…plates of food prepared and unprepared,.left beneath it.As she completes her chant..a group of young men,15-16 years old enter the house…and take over.The “living room” becomes a dance floor,.and the group begin what becomes a nearly two hour show.Brass gongs and rattles…”oning..and chuning”….in hand they rhythmically shuffle and swirl around the room banging as loud as they can until they are drenched in sweat. The combination of senses being tested all at once is overwhelming..the smell of sweat,.sacrifice.,burning wood,.incense,.and boiling pork.Eyes tearing from the smoke of the fire in the dimly lit room.,blurry from the flurry of movements going on.All of it at an unimaginable volume of pounding mallets.If the spirits aren’t alerted and run off by this display…then they surely must be fearless.The music ended.,the dance complete,the tables are set,..its time to eat.Every part of the pig..intestines,.skin,.congealed blood and “meat” are set out.An assortment of vegetables i coulnd’t identify accompany the rice and homemade rice wine that has been brewing for days and transferred to recycled water bottles.Add in the case of Lao Cai beer that we brought as an offering to our hosts..and you have a feast of some sort.The glasses empty and fill again…”Ao chao!!!!…cheers..over and over…the men of the family excited to welcome/entertain us.,the women smiling and laughing along.The “best” parts of the pig are deposited in our rice bowls.If not for the rice wine,,i may have never been able to actually swallow the calamari looking intestines.The look on Rubens’ face as he passed on,.and passed around the congealed blood almost sent me to hysterics.
Before we can even finish the meal..we are invited and insisted to visit the neighbors hut where it all began again.Two dinners down,we are then shuttled to a third hut for a dessert of similar menu,the rice wine flowing like water now.Stuffed on pig and liquor,culturally bound to accept all we have been offered,we say a thousand thank yous and make our way back to Shos’ house where she has been kind enough to prepare our bed.The same spot next too the fire i slept  the night before…Ruby and i crash out side by side on one of the only ‘beds” in the hut,,and woke to a new day and a breakfast of pork,rice..and of course… blaring karaoke music.

path to Shos'

Shos' house

Ku,Chu,and Sho at the river

Sui and her brother

altar orders...

stitch and bitch a'la Hmong...

hog-tied..

and sacrificed for the new year...

Geng,,and Ko

mothers chants..

altars lit...

and the dancers dance.

chasing the spirits video…

Ao chao!!!

Rubes nets one...

view from the bed..

Shos' mother,Sho and i on "walking day" in my new clothes...

walking day

in arms

.....

my tribe 2009,.too many to name them all...

last day in town with Sho and Chu..

25 January 09  SaPa, Viet Nam

…..If silence is golden and pictures are worth a 1000 words,.. then my name should be Midas,and i should load the 2 gigs of photos from my nikon D90 to explain the past 2 months..I have trekked through some jungles..and dark forests…experienced a french revolution,,and a czech invasion…crashed a hard drive and a 125cc motorcycle…been infected with a nasty computer virus and plagued with a fever of 100…watched spectacular sunsets on the island of Lombok in Indonesia……enjoyed sunrises with cold beer amongst the madness of Bangkok… and slept in small fishing villages perched above the sea…
…While all this was occurring i managed to wrestle tigers…watch elephants dance.,.and eventually make my way to Sapa,Viet Nam,where i now sit typing these words in a friends restaurant.It has been a crazy time…and it feels good to be back in a place that i have passed through many times.
……Sometimes words can’t explain all that happens,. and some things are better left unsaid.

surfing Kuta Bali

Lombok Indonesia

school kids Bali

Lombok markets...

fish mongers..

Amed, Bali

angels...

beer o'clock in Ubud with Nyoman and Ketut in Ubud

dinner time in Chiang Mai

Zach...Tiger Temple in Chiang Mai,Thailand

the trick is to dress in like colors...

elephants-dance

22 Dec. 08 Chiang Mai, Thailand

…The alarm went off,and i immediately knew it was one of those mornings that i should stay in bed…my better judgement impaired by the fact that i had only “slept” for three hours,..i got up showered,shaved my teeth,and headed out to meet Jon and Ruben.
….After a bit of back and forth debate as to whether or not he should fly to Thailand for a holiday,my buddy Jon Kryml braved his fears of being murdered or taken hostage by the protesters in Bangkok International airport,and flew over for his first international travel.Culture shock is an understatement for what washed over Jonny.. After a brief introduction to Thailand/Asia via a few days in Bangkok…a quick passing thru the temples of Ayuthaya,an overnight bus ride found us in the northern city of Chiang Mai.There’s alot of things you can pickup in Thailand,..disease….fever…an infection…possibly a wife….we picked up Ruben.From the moment we stepped on the bus to Chiang Mai,..i knew the third musketeer had taken his place.A Dutch event coordinator on an extended getaway,Rubix is everything i like to meet in a fellow traveller.An adventurous spirit,funny as hell,usually hungry,..always thirsty,..and a bit nuts.

….I’m not much for role of tour guide,but as i have traveled thru Thailand before,..Jon was counting on me to sort of lead the way.Rubens’ suggestion of taking a thai cooking class over a couple of cold Singhas,came as a nice reprise from tour duties.”The class is 850 baht..and i can arrange it through my guesthouse,..we just have to meet at the 7-11 at 8:00 tomorrow morning…,it’s outside of town,and shouldn”t be too touristy…”…..This conversation took place in the early afternoon,and the idea of learning to make my own curries and tom kha gai seemed great,….sitting at a table at 3:00am still sipping beers,laughing and eating noodle soup with Ruben,.i wasn’t quite so sure that my culinary skills needed updating…….Sunglasses in place,missing my pillow with an iced coffee in hand,..i was secretly hoping for a cancellation,when a red pick up with a “siam cooking school” sticker double parked in front of the 7-11…out jumped two people whom we were assuming were the driver and tour contact…a guy aged about 30,…and..another guy?…or is that a girl?…i lifted my shades for a better look,and decided that under the circumstances,..a) i am in thailand and things arent always what they seem,..and. b) i have a roaring stinger,,,,i would just climb in back and go with the flow….Twenty minutes later,the three musketeers and a family of 5 from London were standing in a vegetable market,receiving a quick briefing on choosing thai veggies,chilies..and rices from a ladyboy named Wa.Shopping complete,heads still shaking from a combination of weirdness and alcohol we jumped back into the pick up and made our way to the school,where we were divided into two groups…the brits were castoff on the driver,….Ruben,Jon and I were fed to Wa….”Ok big boys…cum with me,..you’re mine…”…The next 10 hours were spent slicing,.dicing,..and chopping under the direct supervision of a  horny mid-op transexual…we were informed in every graghic,imaginable way how to “pound our chilis”..and let our spring rolls “slide into the oil”… and of course the best way “to hold our tools”…to get the most effective end result..”sometimes its better if you use two hands”…. Hangovers melted,. a six course meal cooked and devoured,we were transported back to the city center with a Thai education that you can’t find just anywhere,and an invitation to comeback for a late night lesson in desserts if any of us were interested…..a whole new way of looking at sticky rice that i never needed.

Ruby in the market with Wa

Ruby pounds his chilis..Jonny cant believe his eyes..

A hangover and a cleaver

naughty chopping...

…Four months ago i landed in Bali,and the hook was set.The culture,people and landscapes drew me in,.and i knew very quickly a new love affair had begun.I’ve always enjoyed the sense of motion that traveling provides.,but Bali begs you to stay,and dig in, I freely admit that it was a bittersweet trip to the airport when it was time to move on to thailand to meet a friend.The connections and sense of home that came to me over a 2 1/2 month stay,will certainly lead me back,..and i look forward to it.So often while traveling,you briefly meet people…savor the passing eye-candy,.and are on your way to new places armed with memory cards of photos,journal entries and email addresses of folks you hope too stay in touch with.The destination remains,..you move on as the impermanent part of the experience.

….I came into contact with the Smile Foundation of Bali on accident.,lazing around a cafe on a beautiful warm sunny morning.Better educated and moved by the work that they are doing for some people around Bali,…i sent an email to my friends asking for some support,with the hopes of possibly raising $1000,..and a promise to match the total contribution.

The mission statement of the Smile Foundation reads as follows…”The mission of Yayasan Senyum (Smile Foundation) is to reduce the suffering currently associated with craniofacial abnormalities and to improve quality of life by facilitating the delivery of health care to people with craniofacial disabilities in Bali and other Indonesian islands in partnership with local and international health care professionals.” In essence…they transform lives by helping to correct facial abnormalities.Before and after pictures are clear eveidence of the miracles that they are performing.,..but there is something else that struck me that isn’t reflected in the photos.The operations don’t just change the face of one person.It effects everyone that knows them.The parents,grandparents uncles,aunts,cousins,nieces and friends.The monger that sells them fish in the market,.the guy that drives their daily bus are all effected.An outward spiral of smiles that are never photographed or downloaded onto webpages.

The response i received far exceeded my hopes,..your total contribution was nearly 2000$.Despite some wire transfer difficulties,routing numbers,and overseas deposits aside,.my match along with your generosity resulted in a total contribution of $4,485.The foundation estimates most procedures to cost between 150-300$.That parlays into somewhere between 15 and 30 operations.Add in the spiral effect and i believe we have probably made an impact on thousands of faces,…providing smiles for people that we will never know,.or have the opportunity to sit in cafes with.The magnitude of it immeasurable,and i need to thank all of you.

Danny Cimino,..you never cease to amaze me with your ability to put a smile on someones face.Your friendship,.graciousness and constant support are a gift in my life,and i am better man for knowing you.The “Cimino Effect’ alone is limitless,..you truly make the world a better place for all of us.I couldn’t have managed to pull this off without the help of Jon Kryml,.collection agent and cheerleader extraordinaire,.Cheers Jonny,thanks for everything..you’re a catch! My mother endured numerous trips to the bank,cranky tellers,my incessant calls and has always been a source of smiles to everyone she meets,..1000 kisses mom,you’re the best. I raise a toast to the rest of you…Team Petrozelli,you two kicked it off…Valerie and Adam.(3 cups of smiles.)..Hamza,.(owner of one of my favorite smiles)..my adopted father Buster Bernard….Denise,,always a shining light…the rockstar Lance….and the support and honor of Anna.i could never thank you all enough for taking part in this experience.Collectively…”we” all left Bali better than we found it.The destination remains,… a tangible permanence remains.

4 nov.08 Ubud Bali

…Sitting in the shade of the ceremony hall at the busy intersection of Jalan Ubud and Jalan Suweta has become something of a pastime.The room i rent at Dr. Gede Budanas’ family home is only 75 meters north on Suweta,so it’s a close spot from which to watch the world go by and chat with locals.The hall hosts traditional Balinese dance performances on various nights,serves as a meeting point for town business/gossip,and since my return from Singapore,..resembled a union hiring hall at morning sign in.
Scores of men with sickle like knives tied at the waist,.a makeshift bamboo and steel scaffolding in the process of being “erected”,..i stepped in to see what all the hub-bub was about.
…….” Ngaben..ngaben,,”…my friend Ketut tells me…a female member of the royal family had died..a cremation ceremony was in the early stages of production.The hall was transformed into a staging area for the work at hand,and the determined starting point of a procession that was to take place on 31 October.No Halloween in Bali,..just a very auspicious day chosen accordingly by holy men and the calendars and texts that they read from.My normally quiet hangout had changed gears.,.and the road in front of it had become a small construction zone.
……Having foregone my motorcycle for a mountain bike and a bit of exercise,cruising around town the next few days i realized similar staging areas were being set up.Men splitting piles of bamboo in an open lot in one area..artists hammering,chiseling out cardboard stencils into elaborate shapes and designs in another….a team hunched over,razoring various colored silk,and foil cut outs from the stencils.On opposite sides of town,1.5 km apart,.two large bamboo ramps were being constructed.
Nearly 30 feet tall,and similar in shape and design,..i was reminded of the dare devil ramps that “Evil Knievel” used to launch his motorcycle from.Although the idea of launching the remains of a 70-something year old woman from temple to temple seemed amusing,,..it was out of line.I must be missing something.
…..Reluctant to ask too many questions,preferring to try and figure things out on my own,i spent three days pedaling about watching pieces come together:,the glue dry,the knots cinch,the ramps ramp..and sections of a multi-tiered tower take shape in three different locations.Late night 30 Oct,.passing a replica/statue of a huge menacing bull perched upon a bamboo platform in the middle of my road…i decided to set the alarm
on my mobile phone to insure an early wake up.A Balinese wedding already under my belt,there was no way i was going to miss this spectacle..
…..The half dozen roosters in the courtyard preceded the beeps of my phone,and woke me just before sunrise.A quick shower,..respectfully necessary set of traditional sarongs wrapped around my waist,…i stepped outside into brilliant sunlight and blue skies thinking i wouldn’t mind being cremated on a day as nice as this.Passing through the carved wooden gates that lead from the compound and onto the street,my eyes were immediately drawn skyward to the now completed and stacked “transportation” tower.Approaching 60 feet,9 tiers of silk drapery,foil,and flowers..it was docked against ramp/launching pad #1.The stiff bamboo skeleton that i had watched hammered,.notched and tied into shape in various locations,..was now fully concealed by a vibrant skin.Eyes squinting in the sun,i was staring up at an absolutely stunning piece of artwork sculpted by countless barefoot men,wielding only basic non electric hand tools.Not once did i see a tape measure or blueprint.
……In Hindu Bali,its all about the spirit,the soul…the physical body merely a home or vehicle for the spirit as it passes from life to life.The reincarnation wheel constantly spinning.Birth,marriage,children,death,..birth,marriage,children,death.The devotion to this never-ending cycle of life removes a lot of anxiety about what happens next…so unlike many other “closing acts”…a cremation is a time of joy and revelry..not associated with sadness and mourning. The actual fire,a liberating force from which the spirit escapes the body and passes to another plane,and is hopefully reincarnated as a higher being.The costs of a ceremony of this magnitude are only managed by the wealthy higher castes,,but for the less fortunate lower castes, it’s not uncommon for the deceased body to wait months or even years for a proper cremation.Buried,,and later unearthed when the “time”,and money are both right.

…….On this chosen day..after hours of being blessed by a high caste holy man in a nearby prayer room,the royal body was carried out into the sun in a simple white cloth covered coffin.Preceded by a gamelan band of 20,.and a line of women carrying offerings for the ancestors,..a crowd of nearly 15000 watched as the body was delivered up the ramp,and into the cradle of the tower.Then suddenly over a background soundtrack of rhythmic drums,gongs,and bells,the platformed bull below the tower,actually a hollow sarcophagus,was miraculously hoisted in the air by a group of nearly 60 men and carried 30 meters onto Jalan Ubud.Different animal representations for different castes..the Brahman bull ranks high…the ceremony had begun.Leading the way,the still empty sarcophagus was bounced about,.shaken,.and spun in an attempt to disorient any evil spirits.Dazed and confused,they will find the path home difficult,.rendering it impossible to torment the living family.Masses of people surrounding the bull,the streets mobbed..a man with a microphone barks out orders,..and the tower,.symbol of the Balinese universe,propelled by another 100 plus men,lifted off the ground,moved away from the ramp..,,and took chase of the bull. “Ground control to Major Tom…We Have Lift Off..!!!”. Absolute pandemonium,joy,and amazement as the bull galloped along,,the tower,..body on board,following close behind.Surrounded by thousands,the procession moved in short bursts down Jalan Ubud the nearly one mile trek and arrived at the cremation grounds an hour later.The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade has nothing on a Balinese ngaben ceremony.
…….The tower now firmly docked at ramp/landing pad #2…sarcophagus hoisted and supported upon a raised funeral pyre,..the coffin was brought back down from the tower cradle,and carried in 6 counter-clockwise rotations around the pyre.The back of the bull was then carved open,and the mummy-like sheet covered body was deposited inside.Another high level priest performs a final set of prayers and blessings over the body,and the back is replaced.Soaked in kerosene,large palm tree trunks evenly piled below,.the eldest son of the deceased stepped forward,nodded slightly towards the bull containing his mother…and set it aflame with the blazing incense sticks held in his right hand.The crowd now nearly silent..the music complete..he slowly backed down from the pyre and took a seat in the shade of a nearby banyan tree and watched the flames engulf the black beast that had previously danced down the street.

…It takes a long time to fully burn a body,and it’s not without assistance.A small crew of men continued to stoke the fire for two hours with a flame thrower like burner..kerosene pumping in…continuously checking the remains for progress.Black smoke and ashes still drifting upward.,the masses dispersed..the skies grew gray and a cycle of life began again.Walking away from the scene to find a cold beer,the popping and crackling of the smoldering fire still within earshot…i was certain a newborn child had just released its first wailing cries to the world.

early stages

stencils..

hammering out the stencils..

launch pad 1

first light..

offerings for the ancestors

taking off

the electricity was cut to one side of town to allow passage

cooling off at the cremation grounds

onto the pyre

ignition...

smoke and ashes...

24 oct. 08 Singapore

29 days..,a wedding,new friends,a reunion and a nearly expired Indonesian visa landed me in the city/country of Singapore. Almost a month before,i obtained a $25 “visa on arrival” at Denpasar International Airport in Bali. Not feeling remotely close to being done,Singapore was the nearest visa run option.$170 covered the roundtrip airfare for the 2 1/2 hour flight.$20 covered the taxi to the Indonesian embassy where i dropped my passport to have an extendable 60 day visa put in place.I’ve passed through the airport of the “Lion City” on connecting flights before, but had never stepped outside the terminal.

……A wide mix of ethnicities,..Indian,Chinese,Malay,and various middle eastern cultures,.it’s a blur of colors,languages and flavors set within a dazzling city landscape that seems immune to the global financial crisis.Contained by the small amount of land that its water borders define,(270 sq miles),Singapore takes advantage of the only way to go…up. An architects playground,..chrome,glass and stainless steel the common themes.The public transit system is easily navigated,,on time..efficient and cheap.The city,spotlessly clean,.manicured..almost sterile in nature,..i began questioning Silicon Valley.Strolling the city center feels like walking through a post modern daydream,..the small neighborhoods surrounding it,,Little India,,Arab Street,,and Chinatown,a flashback to another time..one of trade routes,shipping ports,bar rooms and brothels…a constant flow of immigrants and slaves,the colonizing europeans having brought their blueprints from home.
……..A vast change from where i had been,..the buzz of the city was exciting,but i anxiously waited to retrieve my passport,and return to the rice paddies,beaches,and laid back lifestyle of Bali.The towering shopping malls,financial centers and numerous starbucks pale in comparison.Some places draw you in,…others you just pass through getting what you need. Five days later, a new visa and digital DSLR camera in my possession..i scratched Singapore off the list.

My new existence is suiting me well..The days moving at a leisurely pace…there’s nowhere i have to be…so it’s hard to be late.The town of Ubud has got its grips on me,and i haven’t fought much to get away.I’ve moved out of the small bungalow that i was staying in,and for the past two weeks have been living on the family compound of Dr. Gede.Chickens and children running through the courtyard and gardens.,my second floor balcony the perfect perch from which to watch Balinese life go by.A person could easily get stuck here forever. Life is good.

One of the online dictionaries defines serendipitous as: “the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.”,..and it is one of my favorite things about traveling. Maybe my friend Made was correct when he nicknamed me Wayan Semarajaya as i left that wedding nearly a month ago…because i am truly fortunate…and wise enough to know it.I can’t make up the story that follows.,although i must apologize in advance for the profanity it contains.There is just no other way to tell this one….The “F” bombs drop more than once…but they land peacefully……cheers Danny..

Flashback to mid-august/sept. of 2006   Ha Noi, VietNam

..After completing the Kyphon project in Santa Clara,i chose to make a return visit to Viet Nam,my third in as many years., the love affair already in full swing. My friend, Rachael Guthridge from Melbourne Australia, whom i met in Nha Trang on my maiden trip in 2003,..had just ended a relationship and needed a change of scenery,so we decided it would be a great time to catch up..and return to place that we had discovered together.
…….Three weeks passed quickly,the majority of our time spent in the mountains of Sapa.,trekking thru rice terraces and crashing motorcycles.After hugging my tribe of Hmong families good bye..we made our way back into Ha Noi,to relax for a few days before returning to America and Australia respectively.The Moca Cafe is my regular breakfast/coffee haunt when in town,,and this trip was no different.With only 3 days remaining on my visa,i made a point of enjoying as much of their high octane coffee as possible. One morning as Rache and i were dissecting the problems of the world,..a guy walked in and sat at a nearby table by himself. He seemed perfectly content,reading the paper,but as is often the case while traveling,,conversation flowed from table to table. Shortly thereafter we were three,Ray having moved over to join us in the daily Moca dialogues.A London native on an extended, openended travel,he told us that he was in fact traveling with his girlfriend Nikki….”So..Ray….where is she.?……..”uhh..at another cafe i think,we sometimes choose to eat separately,,it allows a bit of space…and freedom for each of us, being as we are together all the time”….Morning banter led to midday and we decided that we would all get together for dinner later in the evening,..Ray, promising to bring his missing girlfriend with him.
……Around 7:00 we all met at an indian restaurant and picked up the easy dialogue that had flowed in the morning.Nikki,another Londoner,.centered,grounded,.. slipping in effortlessly.After a couple of hours of bad wine..great conversation,and delicious aloo gobi,the bill was dropped on the table.As everyone moved towards wallets and purses,i interjected with an offer that had been extended to me…

Prior to lifting off from San Francisco nearly a month before,Danny Cimino,my pseudo-boss,friend,and undoubtedly one of the most generous humans i have ever met,insisted i take my company credit card along on my travel…Exact words i don’t recall,but it went something to the effect of  “..Hey..i don’t know if they even take fucking credit cards in fucking viet nam,but,..take your card…and have a good fucking time,eat in some nice restaurants and steer clear of that fucking street food..!!”……”.No, danny come on.. i have plenty of money,,and its cheap..but thanks for the offer…”……never satisfied unless he has he last word…”Did you hear what i fucking said ?…”
………..Sitting in the indian restaurant,noticing the visa emblem on the bill,the card as of yet unused..i heard his echo..and relayed it to my dinner mates. ..”Hey guys,,can i buy dinner?”,……. “No,no way.”.. the around-the-table response…….”please,really,..i’m not trying to be a hotshot,….but i have this crazy boss and he insisted that i take advantage of his expense acct,.we did really well on my last project…”…Still staring at three reluctant faces,,i decided to offer a better picture of what life with danny is like and performed my best  cimino imitation..:
……hands waving off things he doesn’t want to hear… or objects to…the short,detroit,italian staccato bursts of..”nah,nah,..nah….i don’t fucking think so..” ..his head shaking back and forth, keeping time with his voice.I must have done ok,because after the display we ordered another round of drinks..and Nikki lifted her glass in a toast…..”ok you win….here’s to Danny “fuck you” Cimino,…thanks danny”…glass clinking complete,i put the card in the check binder and paid the $40 tab.A week later,back to work,nose to the grindstone again..i relayed my tale to the one and only..and he,.smiling his signature smile simply replies..”that’s fucking great..”

Fast forward,14 months later….november 2007. NorthernThailand

.. Burned out from two demanding back to back projects,strike and nextest…i hopped a flight to Thailand to recuperate and try to forget everything i know about electrical work.The last message i receive on my cell phone before departing is danny ……”hey..i’m not sure if they even take fucking credit cards in fucking thailand..but,.bring that card..and for gods sake,.. use it this time..!!”…..

A week of sleep under my belt…jetlag defeated..i began moving, traveled north to Ayutthaya,and met Melanie Paillard,,the rest,.as they say.. is history and another story. A coming festival steered us further north to Chiang Mai,,the french in her,led us to a small wine bar in the old city. While staring out into the street from a shaded corner table watching people go by..me sipping cold singha beers..she enjoying the only wine that thailand has to offer..i saw two girls heading towards the entrance of the open air cafe.

‘Hey…i think i know that girl”…….Melanie, in her thick french accent::..”no vay…,zhoo do not know zat girl..”…..”yes i do..i met her last year in Ha Noi,…she was with her boyfriend Ray..i had dinner with them.”…..”no vay..thiz iz impozzible”…..The two girls,laughing and joking with one another as they enter,. walked past us without looking over,and took a table in the back……”I know her,,her name is Nikki..i’ve got an idea…” ….I ask Mel for a pen and paper,jot a short note..and give her enough thai baht to buy a round of drinks…”Do me a favor.,.go to the bar and ask the waitress to bring them two drinks,..and have her pass on this note….”Zhoo are crazzy…..”…Two minutes later she returns to the table,, my back to the girls….she relays the play by play…….”Ok..zhe vaitress ..zhe is coming….zhe puts the drinks down…zhe girl..zhe iz opening zhe note….”  At this point,..i can’t take it..so i turn and look over my left shoulder to watch for myself…Nikkis’ head almost comes disconnected she is spinning around so quickly…i raise my sweating beer in a toast….”hey Nikki..”..she flies over..hugs,disbelief,and introductions…..and then reciting my note says…..”danny “fuck you” cimino wants to buy you a drink..that was perfect.”…They move to our table and i learn that she and ray have parted ways but remain close friends.She is now a full time resident of Chiang Mai..working with children,.practicing yoga.,loving her life..Nikki then performs a danny imitation for the uninitiated .The afternoon passed sweetly as the world grew smaller,and the legend of Danny Cimino grew larger….his credit card covers the cocktails…two days later he replies to the email that i had sent recapping the bizarreness..
“  D…thats fucking great”……ooh,,Danny Danny Danny…

13 oct 2008…. Ubud Bali

Big rains all thru the night yielded a bright sunny beautiful morning. Still camped out in the Ubud vortex..i have fallen into a peaceful pattern of rising slowly..showering and alternating breakfast at the numerous
cafes that are spotted all over the small city center. Last week sitting in the Tut Mak cafe i met Divert…a lovely norwegian,here in bali on business/holiday…importer/exporter and equally efficient cafe junkie.We had made plans to meet for breakfast before she headed off to “work”..a silver jewelry order needed to be placed..
.. The aptly named “Kafe” the meeting point…wi-fi enabled,..organic goods and free range everything make up the menu..the bulletin boards covered with fliers for yoga seminars,alternative medicines,shamans and green living opportunities..It feels like Santa Cruz without the patchouli oil…Breakfast finished,feeling like i should make a plan for the day as well,i began to shut down my laptop as a group of women entered the restaurant from the far door. I grab at Divert who was already standing to leave…”Divert..sit down..you won’t believe this..i know that girl,i need you to do me a favor….”

Out comes the paper and pen…and a request for delivery services…”Can you please hand this to the girl in the black and white dress at the table over there..?”…..Hiding behind my still opened notebook,,i watched her unfold my message,,and shake her head in total shock….”Hey Nikki..”…..three years,,three countries..three cafes….we are hugging each other,laughing about the absurdity of it all…after the appropriate introductions…she reads the message aloud to Divert and the yoga clan she was with,,,,”..danny “fuck you” cimino would like to buy you a bran muffin “……She and Ray are back together,he arrived from australia two days later.Nikki and I pulling a surprise attack on him later in the week. Before saying good bye..(Ray and Nikki on their way to Nepal) we shared a 5 hour long breakfast..some laughter.,the bill..and decided that when we are all miraculuosly in San Francisco….we’re taking Danny to dinner.

me,nikki,and rache in HaNoi sept.06

kathy,nikki and i in chiang mai nov. 07

surprise attack on Ray in Ubud Bali..no idea who's covering his eyes

Ubud Bali..at "Kafe"..

3 oct. 08 ubud bali

“….sorry simpson,,i’m late..”…7:45 am…Nyoman steps off his motorbike and unlocks the door to the photograghy gallery that he works in,.a small plastic bag in his free hand. Two days prior wandering aimlessly around Ubud,I had stepped into the shop to browse the large prints and escape the afternoon heat. After a few minutes of gazing,hands behind back..i asked if he was the photogragher…”No..i just work here…the photogragher is in india..” Conversations about india,led to travel,asia..bali..and how i ended up in the shop. Simple easy conversation flowed,names..ages.…his life,..married with two children..my life..just walking around with my hands behind my back…. “you don’t know anyone here..?”…nope…”What are you doing on 1 october? do you have a program?”…I thought for a moment and realized I have probably never been more without a program In my life….not really..why?…” Because my friend is getting married,the holy man in Medahan ,our village,has said that it is very good day to be married… i’d like to bring you as my guest..you can meet my friends..see a real Balinese ceremony..i can practice my english.”…hmm..ok….” I’ll bring some clothes for you,.my brother is the same size”…and with that, we shook hands, decided to meet at 7:30..and I stepped back out into the sun questioning my wardrobe…

…Inside the shop,he opens the bag..and pulls out two sarongs and a scarf… standing motionless, I am immediately transformed back to childhood..he’s wrapping,tucking and folding the sarongs around my waist, basically dressing me…the scarf,a symbol/tool of holding in pure thoughts, is halved,and wrapped around my head,knotted in the front…”you can look”.. he points to a large glass framed print from Thailand,.my reflection coming back at me glossed over a temple in Ayuthaya that I sat in the shade of for hours last year…seeing myself..i know I am lifetimes away from there….we lock up,hop on his bike and we’re off.

…Medahan is about 8 km outside of Ubud proper..stately Indonesian homes,compounds actually,line the road as we go.. the roads narrows,..left.. right.. left.left..i know I’ll never remember the combination that leads back to town…i’m in…now its just rice fields and bali landscapes. We pull up at his family home,and i am introduced to his wife and two kids,she’s a tailor,and has an order to fill, she won’t be joining us in the celebration..,so we begin the short walk on our own.

…the entrance to the grooms’ family compound is a long narrow alley that leads to a walled courtyard of structures…each building a separate space,and function..some for living…some for cooking..some for ceremony and prayer..the direction and placement based in relation to sunrise,sunset,the mountains and sea.Roosters strut about the well groomed grounds, gardens,and paths that separate and outline the plot..scents of orchids and incense in the air. I’ve never dreamed of a space like this…it feels right..I am introduced to the groom..komang,.32..employed on a cruise ship in the caribbean,home for the wedding and then back to miami in 9 days to fulfill another 6 month contract as bar/wait staff, there will be no honeymoon,.His bride Eluh lives about a ¼ mile away. At 8:45 a procession of nearly 50 or 60 makes its way to her family compound,led by the holy man and komang,..i am the only non-balinese,..we spend 15-20 minutes milling around her  familys’ courtyard before returning in larger numbers to komangs’..bride in tow.

..…Back in the gardens..the holy man and his priests begin the ceremony..washing and blessing of the parents hands,feet,.and then those of the elaborately dressed couple.Onto the sacred ceremony altar they go.. incense burns…flowers are used as spoons to splash blessed water on,over and around them..gamelan players in the background..ancient sanskrit prayers over a microphone.They move to another location on the property..offerings to the gods and local spirits are placed on the family altar,..hands together in prayer over their heads…a new union is formed.

..A feast for 200 has been prepared over the past 3 days,the entirety of the invited village taking part in the work..large silver serving platters cover a long buffet table,..nyoman and i take our place in the long line. Pork,.chicken.,sausages..and vegetables,fish satay on skewers,local rice in large steaming baskets,..the food is unlike anything I have tried.,not like thai or vietnamese..a whole new set of taste buds awakened…not overly spicy,somewhat sweet but not resembling westernized chinese food,..the first of a day of amazing meals.

…….After the masses have been fed..the whole party and procession moves back to Eluhs home to perform more rituals,,insuring that her departure will be well received by the gods and spirits that live there.Nyoman has been introducing me to everyone, eagerly answering my neverending stream of questions…next to the bride and groom,.i feel like the attraction of the day and am honored to be there. Everyone is happy to sit,talk..shake hands and ask where I am from..and why I am there,everyone smiles so easily..i feel it is me who has been washed with the holy water.,truly blessed to a part of all that’s going on around me.

. …Between the processions and food..nyoman suggests we head out to the rice fields with some of his friends..there’s something i need to try…arak.and tuak…palm wines..sitting in an open air cinder block hut looking out at endless rice paddies,i am acquainted with my first of many glasses of a local liquor that is drawn from the coconut palms in a similar fashion to maple syrup,..a spike is driven in as a syringe,,a bamboo shoot holds the goods.The sweetness and alcohol content dependent on the age..we drank the young and sweet ..we enjoyed the old and slightly bitter.In the shade of the hut, we talked..drank,.laughed and drew pictures to fill in the language gaps. “How many brothers, sisters do you have…”do you vote for obama”..,”why so many wars with america?”…”do you like war?.”  The bombings in bali…the trade center in new york…life in bali….life in america.They could not believe we have homeless,..poor..or that we have war vets sitting at intersections begging for money. The myth that we are all rich,..sipping coca cola in a heated pool with big breasted, blonde blue eyed models waiting on us still lives here.Nyoman translating…his friend Made pouring tuak from old recycled soda bottles.,we shared some life and the same rocker glass.      …Questioning my name,.they taught me that the balinese don’t name their children as the rest of the world does,..you are named according to your birthplace in the family:

the first born is Wayan, or Putu

second is Made or Kadeek

third…Nyoman or Komang

fourth…Ketut..no alternates.

……if a family has five or more children..you go back to Wayan,and continue the sequence..slight variations happen..nicknames or terms of endearment (Eluh)..but basically, you’re first thru fourth,the end….through the course of the day i met an equal number of all…and they were all as sweet and kind as the first..wayan,putu….i mean…..well,.you get the point.

…As the day moved from day to evening..and evening to night.. while the new bride and groom moved through various costumes and outfits,welcoming and greeting the coming and going guests.. a group of about twelve of us moved through cases of Bintang beer and plastic bags of tuak (the stronger wine) on an outdoor pavilion..an acoustic guitar emerges…a foreign language simplified and reduced to a nuance. It gets passed around and finally lands in the hands of the long haired, shy,quiet guy in the corner,I hadn’t heard him speak all day.Out of respect for his humble,sweet, modest way I won’t confess his birth number and name,.but for the past 20 years he has been sitting in a small house at the end of a small road in a small village in bali Indonesia teaching the guitar a few new things.I have never been in the presence of a prodigy, ..until I attended a Balinese wedding,.and am unsure whether I will ever watch a mans fingers move as quickly,deftly and precisely as his.,.regardless of where i may roam.Unleashed is the only word that can describe his playing.Through nyomans’ translation I was told that he is happy where he is..and only plays for himself,all day,,everyday…no desire to make money at it….”just for me “. Bali has no shortage of spirits and gods,..they are everywhere,present in everything,and i was fortunate to actually sit across from one and will never forget the experience.

.…Around 1:30 am, after a full day of festivities,.it was time to go..the photograghy shop had to be opened in the morning. Good byes..thank yous..requests and promises to return completed,..nyoman and I start to make our way towards the gate that leaves the compound…. .Made,who’s taken to calling me “simp”……yells over to me in his limited english,. “good night Wayan Semarajaya”….good night first born son,god of good fortune….

entrances

receptions

wedding ceremony altar

wayan,made,ketut,nyoman,nyoman,"wayan",made

my gracious hosts,.eluh and komang

made,gamelan musician and palm wine partner

eluh

precious..

first sips..

1:00 am..

I’ve never been one to bang on doors,or knock incessantly..i prefer to allow them to open purely by a well directed breeze.Many times during my travels,prevailing winds have led me to places and situations that a map or guidebook never could have..

Letting things just happen has led me to the new group of friends I have made here..the family house/compound that I have taken up residence in..and to the Smile foundation of Bali.

Sitting in a café equipped with wi-fi,writing one of these long winded tales..my eye caught a flyer tacked to a small bulletin board.the photograghs on it,.the magnets. Before and after pics of people that have undergone craniofacial surgery.I had to get a closer look. I jotted down the provided email address,and headed back to my seat to see what it was all about..Less than three minutes had passed since I glanced at the flyer and I was already finished reading through the mission statement..less than ten had passed and I’d already sent an email to them,and taken down the address here in Ubud.

The following day,I walked into the Smile Shop in Banjar Taman and,gained some firsthand insight and understanding as to what they have created,and knew immediately that I needed to find a way to help. The work and energy that is being put into this foundation and the contribution that they are making to Bali is miraculous,and life changing.

So without banging on doors,merely attempting to act as a gentle breeze opening them,I am kindly asking all of my friends to just take a moment or two,…less time than you have already spent reading my words,and open the link for the Smile Foundation of Bali,and consider the possibility of making a donation,on any level..To all of my fellow sparkys..who know me well..maybe a little bit of the rabbit/copper funds?..and to my mates in the pub,the cost of a round of Patrons will bring more smiles here than there.I have an idea that will make transfer of funds easier from the U.S..Rather than numerous costly wire transfers,Jon Kryml, who doesn’t know it yet, will be acting as collection agent,depositing in an acct there,and I will personally deliver them here.I don’t think a goal of $1000 is unrealistic or out of reach,and I will match the total contribution that is posted on the comment page.Surprise me guys.,you always do.,and I can deliver some smiles in the name of all of us.

Please post your comments,feelings and suggestions through the comment link above this post so they are available for everyone to read. …here’s the address /www.senyumbali.org/ ..or you can get there from the “open your mind,there are paths to roam” links on the right column.

Thanks everyone…keep smiling…darren

27 sept. 08 Ubud,Bali

My room is situated on the second floor of a two story bungalow. Twenty five square meters,white washed brick walls.The ceiling is tall,cone shaped,constructed of teak..an inverted matchstick funnel with a ceiling fan spinning slowly in its center to move the humid air.The room is sparsely furnished sans the dark,heavy dresser and queen sized bed..the mattress is soft..sheets milky white.The small bath has a hot water tap.The west wall is all windows,kneecap to ceiling.Outside, daylight is just filling the gray morning sky..it could be mist,, it could be rains on the way..it’s still to early to tell. A barely noticeable breeze moves through the coconut and banana trees in the courtyard,,the monkeys are already enjoying breakfast .Everything is lush..green,except the pinks and reds of the rhododendron,and hibiscus that grows so well here…. Intricately carved doors on the south wall lead to a large covered balcony, the stone tiles are cool under bare feet.,. the clunky bamboo furniture is more comfortable than it looks…Bali is details…everywhere you look..everywhere you go..details….It seems an effort,with no effort at all,has been made to do everything,.the words placement..intention and design come to mind often.Curving paths laden with stepping stones., sweet jasmine and champak tucked into every nook and cranny…water flows everywhere…  Offerings of rice,flowers,incense and sweets are placed in woven palm frond bowls,and presented to the Hindu gods..they cover the temples,the sidewalks and dashboards of taxis. The “city center” is crowded with trendy shops,restaurants and bars..air/con buses loaded with japanese tourists pour into the lot of the main market..taxi drivers and touts constantly offering “transport”. From what i am told by the locals,the terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005 have scaled back the tourist trade, but i would never know it by looking around.They still use mirrors on poles to search under all the vehicles entering the hotels and resorts….

After 26 hours of travel time, I spent my first few days at the beaches in the south,trying to get a sleep pattern back..Kuta is the party scene..overbuilt and overcrowded..clubs, discoteques and hotels line the main drag.If I was the sort that collected “Hard Rock Café” t-shirts,I could be plus one.The beach is long and deep,the water is warm,waves are good,surfboard rentals cheap…but..paradise it is not… Situated close to the airport, I had the sense that many visitors never leave town..get off the plane..get a sunburn..get back on the plane,.voila!…it gave me anxiety…So after a few days,a few waves,and no burn,I headed here to see if I could find something more suitable…rice paddies,villages and smiling faces…With a 125 cc motorcycle rented for a week and no compass.,i headed north 70km and hiked in,..paradise was waiting…

kuta beach

balance..

rice farmer

savita

sharing oreos

uphill & loaded

separating grain from rice

rice terraces

terraces

paradise waits..