darren simpson

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...

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..

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..