Bali - Ubud, a World of Worlds

Our half-day Batur excursion ended in Ubud - a delightful, sprawling town where both human and vehicular traffic moved in the same alternating waltz between frenzy and insouciance. There was some wonderful shopping to be had, and Mary was desperate to get started. We saw a little of Ubud the previous night when Mr Nyoman dropped us off outside Clear Cafe at Jalan Hanoman for dinner. Shops selling all sorts of interesting knick-knacks lined the streets, with wares to suit a whole gamut of tastes and preferences, from handy fridge magnet souvenirs to monkey skulls from the island of Timor, T-shirts combining both Hindu and punk rock imagery to batik shabby chic sarongs. The initial excitement waned when we realized that many shops actually sold pretty much the same range of items, and flagged further once we learnt that prices hardly differed from Singaporean prices.

Below: where we were let off by Mr Nyoman in Ubud; walking along Jalan Monkey Forest, and stopping at the gate of Hanoman's kingdom

Yet there is no mistaking the charm which Balinese crafts hold for foreigners, and the significant role of Balinese crafts in the regional economy. On our way back to Ubud from Tegallalang, we drove by gathered assemblies of sculpted Buddhas outside lines of crafts shop - reclined, seated, serene, wooden, stone, acrylic, jet black and shocking pink, portable, immovable. The wood and stone were Javanese and Lombok, the hands that made them Balinese.  Paintings, pottery, glass art and furniture were also peddled. Products meant to be shipped abroad were then sent to the east Javanese port of Surabaya, reflecting Bali's position as a major marketplace and redistribution centre.

Mercifully, our Ubud experience transcended our abortive attempts at shopping. A royal wedding held at the Puri Saren emptied what seemed like all of Bali's elegant resplendence on Ubud's tiny two-laned streets. Away from the gridlock which developed outside the palace, which we steered well clear of, we entered a hidden world of temples peering out from amongst gaudy shopfronts, rice fields set amidst creeping urban encroachment and irrigation canals bubbling between concrete canyon walls. It was a world of worlds, which we barely explored while we kept to the main roads. We also learnt two half-days were woefully inadequate even for the main streets - an interminable drizzle, hunger and a growing weight of the day's earlier walking tiredness put paid to any further sight-seeing. Ubud had to wait for a second visit.

Below: Ubud, a world of worlds

On the way to the airport the next day, we had a short discussion with Mr Nyoman on Balinese music and dance. Mr Nyoman revealed that he had in fact previously arranged for his two boys to learn the angklung (it was 150,000 rupiahs for the first month and 30,000 for subsequent months, I cannot remember the frequency of lessons). We asked how that turned out. They only want to play football, he sighed.

He also described various Balinese dances typically performed for visitors - I only recall the kecak being one of several styles mentioned. Given the stillborn interest of Mr Nyoman's sons in the arts, we wondered if this was reflective of youths' general attitude on the same subject. Apparently it doesn't seem to be the case, as the promise of tourist money along the tourism belt on the southern coast has kept alive this rich tradition of dance among young people. We had previously ruled out watching any of these, but we might have over-generalized and thrown the baby out with the bath water.

So how does the score card between Skepticism and Balinese appeal read? There is still a tad too many tourists for our liking (no, this isn't a face-saving proclamation), but we genuinely like the island. The tourist throngs which Bali entertains meant the ready availability of amenities - chiefly a comfortable airport, decent roads and a wonderful array of both accommodation and eating options. At the same time, the island's compact geographical landmass means its major sites are easily accessible from its tourist hubs. Want to see volcanoes from Ubud? It's only a little over an hour's drive. Rice terraces? Just walk out of Ubud town centre. But you're staying in Kuta? Add an hour's driving to that. Want to get away from it all and head to the less frequented north coast? Three hours and you're there.

We doubt we'll ever step into the coastal resorts in south Bali, but we most certainly will return.

Bali - What Lies Beneath

Both Lake Batur, Bali's largest freshwater lake, and the even larger caldera within which the lake is set, daily attracts droves of tourists eager for volcanic, upland views. Yet the shimmering, placid waters belies its cataclysmic past. Balinese history is not without its fair share of violence - mythical, geological, human - which years of promoting mass tourism conveniently elides.

Below: from left to right, Gunung Batur, Danau Batur and Gunung Abang

For every testimony of Balinese gentleness and hospitality, there is a monument to violence. We passed a number of ogoh ogoh effigies - the king of the spirits Barong and the demon queen Rangda, Krisna and Rawana, all locked in immortal, mythical combat. These papier mâché representations were paraded exultantly to boisterous accompaniment on the eve of Bali's Day of Silence and later burned to symbolize the eviction of malevolent spirits. Reminders of the more recent past also exist in statues commemorating the Indonesian independence struggle. We passed a couple of statues depicting three independence fighters wielding stones and bamboo stakes - perhaps representing the grim-faced determination of the Indonesians to wrestle freedom, against overwhelming odds, from the Dutch.

The smouldering cone of Batur itself stands testament to this violence. The crescent-shaped lake on the south-eastern part of the caldera was created by a massive eruption about 23,000 years ago. As the volcano literally blew its top, its original height of over 4,000 metres above sea level was halved to its present, modest equivalent of 1,717 metres.

Lakeview Restaurant on the lip of the caldera commands a fine view of Batur, Abang and Lake Batur nestled in between. Its owners have creatively designed an open terrace where customers can feast on both breakfast and pleasing volcanic views, for a minimum order of 50,000 rupiahs per person. The crowd at this more upmarket establishment comprised mostly Westerners, with the local tourists frequenting the less heralded  roadside environs elsewhere on the edge of the caldera.

Below: 50,000-rupiah views of the caldera

We returned by the same road, and made a brief visit to this coffee agro-tourism set-up just before the village of Tegellalang. We were promised good views there. A short tour past caged civets, baskets of kopi luwak beans in various stages of processing ended at a tasting station, where we disappointed our self-appointed guide by steadfastly refusing to buy anything. There were good views indeed, of yet more rice terraces just beyond the tasting station.

Below: expensive, no, expansive views beyond caffeinated civet poo

More rice terraces awaited at Tegellalang, just minutes south of the  agro-tourism set-up. Tegellalang sees more visitors compared to Jatiluwih owing to its better accessibility, being just under an hour north of Ubud. The Jatiluwih terraces stretch across a wide valley and are a more imposing sight. Those at Tegellalang occupied a narrower gorge, but are nonetheless impressive. Concrete platforms have been built by the roadside just before the rice terraces begin; these have been colonised by a slew of shops selling kitschy Balinese art and crafts.

Below: the Tegellalang terraces

I'm far from over-romanticising the karmic cycles of destruction and renewals which Balinese history seems to go through. I also acknowledge the over-ambitious attempt to over-simplify Balinese culture by adhering to this destruction-creation duality. Yet it is hard not to admire the Balinese. Theirs is a fraught paradise full of pained memories - the independence struggle in which Balinese fought and died for both sides, sporadic eruptions which led to mass displacement of Balinese villagers, the "anti-communist" killings which engulfed Indonesia following the fall of Sukarno, a growing water shortage, even the Bali bombings a decade or so ago which momentarily paralyzed tourism on the island.

Each time the Balinese have picked up the pieces and rebuilt their lives. Most times, they still manage to smile.

Bali - The Price of Paradise

The affable and patient Mr Nyoman (we later learnt there are probably a million Nyomans in Bali) acted as our guide and driver for our stint on the island. On his advice, we jettisoned our plan to head eastwards on Friday towards Sidemen (festival on Pura Besakih = heavy traffic) and instead went northwards towards Munduk. The itinerary looked pretty balanced, comprising as it did a waterfall, rice terraces and two temples (one in the lowlands and the other in the highlands).

In reality, geography decided what and how much we could see in a day's driving. Many of Bali's roads followed its rivers along a north-south axis. These rivers, tumbling either northwards and southwards from the central volcanic uplands, carved out many steep-sided valleys which in turn impeded latitudinal travel. (We experienced this first-hand in Ubud, as the road from downtown Ubud back to Taman Bebek lay astride these river valleys.)

Geography also contributed to the political fragmentation of pre-colonial Bali. Bangli, Klungklung and Tabanan are familiar names on the Balinese tourist circuit, and were once kingdoms that vied with each other for control over the island. Pura Tanah Ayun at Mengwi, just west of Ubud, was built by one of these kingdoms. Balinese temple compounds were divided into three areas - outer, middle and inner realms - which are meant to replicate how the Hindus perceive the cosmos are arranged. Closed to tourists, the main temple in Pura Taman Ayun stood in the inner realm, where it is believed the wandering gods often descended to rest. Inside rose the first of the many meru we would see inside Balinese temples - thatched pagoda-like structures which is meant to symbolize Mount Meru, the abode of the Hindu gods. A wall and a moat ran around the main temple, as did an unending stream of tourists.

Below: Balinese skyscapes at Pura Tanah Ayun

From Mengwi we headed north, upslope and right from brilliant sunshine into gathering cloud. Our destination was Melanting Falls near Munduk. Melanting plunged down a smooth rock face fringed with luxuriant greenery. From the road it took between ten to fifteen minutes to descend to the falls. The falls had been swollen by intermittent showers that afternoon, and the fear of a sudden downpour had us advancing down the path like Greek hoplites, with opened umbrellas for burnished bucklers.

Below: with Mr Nyoman at Air Terjun Melanting, the only attraction where rain isn't a dampener

We retraced our steps towards Lake Bratan to visit the famous floating temple of Pura Ulun Danu Bratan. Another showery spell later on meant an extended lunch at a restaurant on the temple grounds. Built by the erstwhile kingdom of Mengwi (even before Pura Tanah Ayun), this was one of two main water temples on Bali. Lake Bratan is one source of irrigation, regulated strictly in the past by the temple's priesthood, for Bali's fabled rice terraces. The stream of tourists we encountered at Mengwi grew into a torrent here, which nobody regulated.

Below: Pura Ulun Danu Bratan

We continued our downstream course towards the rice terraces of Jatiluwih, fed by the springs of Gunung Batukaru and painstakingly carved out of the rolling hills by the endeavour of many Balinese hands. Art and science, split so neatly in our heavily Westernised curricula, combined here beautifully in the intricacies of an irrigation system complex enough to slake the unquenchable thirst of terraced earth.

Below: Jatiluwih, where rice fields glow

It is hard to imagine the scarcity of water in such a seemingly well-watered island as Bali. But population growth, the corresponding increase in the acreage brought under plow and an unrelenting influx of tourists (today close to an estimated eight million a year, both foreign and domestic) have contributed to this critical shortage. Everybody wants to drink from the rivers of paradise. Nobody ever thinks it might ever run dry one day.

Bali - Knocking on Heaven's Door

"We're going to Bali to prove to my wife that Bali's really over-rated," I declared to my colleague when asked what we were up to this Easter weekend. "What a waste of money," was my colleague's pithy response.

So after two previous trips to Indonesia which took us to the Batak highlands, Banda Aceh, Bandung, Bromo and Banyuwangi, we finally set foot on Bali. The newly-constructed terminal at Ngurah Rai Airport might have passed for an average nondescript airport in the developed world, but its well-lit, spacious and clean interior rendered it rather sleek by Indonesian provincial standards. Two prompt, unsmiling stamps on our passports, and we were nodded into paradise. Heaven's sliding doors opened to reveal a wall of white placards, on which were written the names of those who knocked. Mary's sharp eyes quickly found ours, and we disappeared into the Balinese night.

Our accommodation at Taman Bebek was in the village of Sayan, on the eastern outskirts of Ubud. The compound is perched on the terraced, emerald edge of the Sungai Agung gorge, over which Gunung Abang towered, benevolently on most days. We trudged sleepily after our porter along a leafy path, steeped in darkness, which led to our villa. Day would later unveil a lush garden setting full of birdsong.

Below: birdsong by day, cacophony by night.

One entered the villa through tiny wooden swing-doors, which opened unto a wide verandah. There we breakfasted al fresco in the mornings, with the mosquitoes who quickly found us. On our last morning in Bali, we retreated into the kitchen. The villa provided elegant, colonial-style comfort, though it was a while before we got used to the open-concept, mandi-style shower (nothing but blinds and angled walls to separate it from passers-by) and the Himalayan four-post bed which took an effort to clamber into. The interior was sparely though artfully furnished. Mary was unnerved by the steely gazes of a couple of portraits on the walls, which I proceeded to carefully take down, turn around and place against the wall.

Above: colonial-style living.

It was a short walk to the infinity pool, from where one could see the characteristic Balinese terraced rice fields cascade down towards the gushing Ayung river. Gunung Abang stands majestically in the background, when it isn't obscured by customary mid-day cloud. The pool was mostly unused, despite the resort being nearly full. The two resident bumblebees which buzzed amongst the flowers just above the water might have had something to do with this.

Below: Abang and the Sungai Ayung gorge.

But paradise had to wait. That first night, we were lulled to sleep by the creaks of the ceiling fan, the unceasing cacophony of crickets and the promise of sunny tomorrows.