Today couldn't have started much better. At least, for me. There was a glorious sunrise over the rice fields across the street. Mt. Agung was briefly visible through the clouds and it was perfectly gorgeous.
It was probably a less delightful morning for the bat, which was still in the same spot on the chair when I woke up. I started to have suspicions about its health or, more specifically, its lack thereof.
When Ayu arrived to make breakfast, I pointed it out to her. She walked over to the chair, poked it roughly with her index finger. The index finger she would shortly be using while preparing my breakfast.
"Dead."
"Yup," I agreed.
She picked it up and brought it outside. Possibly she gave it to one of the machete guys. Or the cow. I don't know. I don't want to know, but I will be checking my dinner for wings.
Our plan for the day was a full day tour with Wayan, the house manager. He texted me to tell me that his grandmother had died last night (no relation to the bat, I hope) and he had contacted Kadek to drive us other places.
I apparently took some bonus random photos of the villa this morning, so let's take a look at other parts of the house before we set off for the day.

Kadek arrived at 9:00 and we set off to visit a temple before drinking poop coffee. As we headed for the temple, we saw a scooter being driven by a man wearing all white.
"Holy man," Kadek explained. "Maybe going to my house for celebration."
He explained that Balinese people celebrate 2 birthdays; one for the global calendar, the other based on the Balinese calendar, which was never adequately explained to me so I won't bother telling you a bunch of crap that probably is totally wrong.
The holy man pulled into a small home compound and Kadek nodded. "Yes. This is my home. Do you want to come to the celebration?"
Oh, HELL yes we did!
Kedek pulled into his driveway and, after assuring us that it was okay and we were dressed properly, we joined his family for a delightful half hour of celebrating his niece's 6 month birthday. He explained that his family was very poor and of the lowest caste in Bali. They were some of the most delightful, warm, welcoming people we have ever met. It was a 6 month birthday celebration and they welcomed two strangers who don't speak the language in to their home and made us feel very welcome. We were given some small snacks and water. Kadek's uncle explained (In very good English) that he had worked in carnivals in North America for 22 years. He was the uncle that every family has. Loud, funny, and very kind.

We only stayed for about 30 minutes, but it was honestly one of the highlights of our entire trip. It was such a beautiful experience - a meeting of strangers who are eager to make connections with one another. We were very grateful to have been included.
From there, we headed to Pura Tirta Empul, a sacred water temple built in the 14th century. It's located in a lush valley directly downhill from the palace where the president of Indonesia stays when he is in Bali.
The temple is built around a spring that flows up from the ground in a shimmering pool of water. I couldn't get a good photo of it, but the bottom of the pool is covered with sparkling sand (maybe mica?) that flutters and dances constantly as the water flows up from the spring. It's beautiful to watch. 
From the spring, the water flows through pipes into another pool through 10 fountains. Worshipers enter the pool and visit each fountain. They wash their heads, take 3 sips of water, douse their bodies and move to the next fountain to repeat the process. Each fountain is supposed to be good for a particular thing: skin, hair, bad dreams, etc.

 We climbed back into the car to go drink poop coffee.
Yes.
Really.
There is an animal called a luwak in Indonesia. Generally, they are carnivores, but some of them have developed a taste for coffee beans which they eat and then excrete. (See how delicate I'm being here?) Poo hunters gather the poop, clean the beans, and sell it to stupid tourists.
Like me.
In Bali, there are unofficial districts where there are specialties. You might go to an area that has a lot of woodcarvers, or silversmiths, or poop hunters. We passed a lot of Luwak Coffee Plantations. Why Kadek selected the one he did, I will never know, but I'm glad he did.
We were greeted by Juli, who wore a shirt emblazoned with "Poo Hunter" on the front. The back of the shirt was much better. You'll see.
Juli showed us the process of making coffee (minus the actual delivery of it from the luwak) and we were given a free flight of coffee and tea.
I haven't really stressed just how hot and steamy it is in Bali. The idea of a flight of coffee and tea in 94 degree heat was less appealing than you may imagine. I'm happy to say that it was much less sweaty than anticipated.
The ginger tea was like a hot glass of ginger.
The ginseng tea was offered with the motto "Dad drinks, mom is happy" due to ginseng's alleged effect on male bits. Despite the promises the ginseng tea made, I preferred Rosella Tea, which probably translates to Limp Tea. I have no idea.
There was no luwak coffee on the free flight. If you want to try that you need to shell out 50,000 IRD (about $3.50) which, for Balinese locals is a stupidly absurdly high price to pay for coffee. For those of us who are used to seeing people regularly shell 2 or 3 times that for a crappy cup of Starbucks, it seemed worth the price just to try it.
It was a rich cup of coffee. I tried it. I wouldn't drink it again.

After drinking a literal shitty cup of coffee, we headed off for lunch and then to Penglipuran Village, touted as "an authentic Balinese village!"
I had a hard time here; I'll be honest. It was stunningly beautiful. The houses were gorgeous, the only street in town was made of lovely cobbled ramps connecting flat areas, the scenery around the town was beautiful. It was, however, overrun with busloads of people including several busloads of Javanese kids - maybe 10 years old or so - hundreds of kids, running, screaming, and it seemed like every one of them had purchased a small toy that was a wooden handle with a crank that, when turned, made a sound like a clacking machine gun.
Only louder.
Yes. I know exactly what kind of old poop I sound like, but poop seems like the theme for the day so I'm embracing my poopiness.
Almost every house in town had its front gate open, welcoming visitors in to see and, hopefully, purchase the same cheap plastic crap that was for sale every other place in Bali.
I get it. I honestly do. Most people in the country are desperately poor and they're working hard to make any sort of living. I just wish that there was a way to make that happen without destroying the traditional culture and the environment of the island. It's such a beautiful place and the people are so kind. It's hard to see overtourism eroding that.
Kerri and I visited the quieter houses that were open and enjoyed the gardens and elaborate temples that are found at every house in Bali. We also found a huge bamboo grove at the far end of the one street in town. It was amazing.

I could have stayed and watched the photo shoots for countless hours, but the noise was a bit much and we had more to see. Back on the road so we could get to the Tegallalong Rice Terraces.
Scenes from the drive:

These were an absolute nothing in Bali until they were featured in the movie Eat, Pray, Love. Now, they are overrun with tourists, shops, and restaurants. Kadek couldn't find any open space along the road where we could park and see the terraces, so, in a Ninja-Driver Level 100 move, he pulled into a restaurant parking lot. We went in to have some fruit juice. For a few cents worth of tasty juice, we had a great view of this beautiful area. It's a series of tiered rice fields that are still very much in use even though they're crawling with tourists. I think the farmers should offer an "Authentic Balinese Experience" and give the tourists a chance to tend the field for them. For a modest fee, of course.

The ride back to the villa was long, but pleasant enough. I'm still amazed by how intimate everything feels here. The stores and houses are built right up to the street. People, dogs, chickens, kids all wander inches from the road, seemingly oblivious to the traffic zipping by. Hundreds and hundreds of scooters and motorbikes swarm everywhere. And it all seems to work in a way that I cannot understand, but I really appreciate.

As we approached the villa, Kadek had to pull over because someone had been doing their laundry in the drainage ditch by the side of the road and they just left it all there, completely blocking the road. What was lurking in the rice field that made someone abandon their laundry in the middle of the road? I hope I never find out.

When we got past the terrible laundry road blockage, we went for a swim. Ayu arrived 90 minutes early to make dinner and I was very thankful that I had brought my bathing suit to the pool with me. She made an amazing dinner of shrimp curry, rice, chicken curry, vegetables, and soy bean cakes.
There were no bat wings that I could see in any of the dishes.
Ayu continued to teach me new Balinese words and she got a big kick out of talking fast and making me really work for it. She's delightful.

Tomorrow, we're heading in to Ubud Center for the art market, the royal palace, and a royal water temple.

Kerri crept stealthily out of the bedroom, peering from side to side like a cartoon villain about to rob a bank. "Why are you asking about rabies?"
I pointed to the bat on the chair. To her credit, Kerri did not then act like a 1940's cartoon lady, screaming and hiking up her skirt. Probably at least in part because she wasn't wearing a skirt like I was.

After breakfast, we said goodbye to the bat and headed off with Kadek for another thrilling adventure. Today, we were going to put out sarongs into action and go see some temples AND the Ubud Sacred Monkey Forest. But first we had to get there, which meant more driving through the insanity of Balinese traffic. I honestly cannot understand how 50% of the drivers on the roads are not killed in horrific accidents every day.
It was common to see entire families on scooters. Generally, the baby up front, standing and smiling at the oncoming traffic, dad driving from behind the baby, an older child holding tightly to dad, and mom, her legs draped casually over one side of the scooter, texting as they zipped through the traffic like warung food through a tourist's colon.
Here are some thrilling street scenes:

Our first stop was Goa Gajah Temple, a historic Hindu water temple that was hand-carved in the 9th century by people who clearly had too much time on their hands. When we arrived, Kadek helped us tie our sarongs properly. Apparently just wrapping it around me like a towel wasn't going to cut it. "Men wear them like this," he explained, adjusting it in a way that didn't seem any different from what I had done, but he was the expert and I'm a guest in the country.
We headed toward the ticket booth - it still seems strange to me that there are ticket booths for actual operating temples. These aren't just tourist attractions. They are all places where people go to pray. We hadn't even bought tickets when it started to pour. We dashed under a roof near the bathrooms to try to stay dry. After a minute or so, Kadek came running over, proffering us two umbrellas.
"Yay! Thanks, Kadek!" we cheered.
It was very thoughtful, but mere umbrellas were useless against the tropical downpour. We got thoroughly soaked as we walked toward the ticket booth. And, just when we were completely soaked, the rain stopped almost completely leaving us dripping and steamy.
The actual temple is located in a deep, lush gorge. A long, winding stairway brings you to the main area, where several small buildings surrounded the sacred water pools. There, koi swam in water so shallow that at some points, they actually had to swim on their sides to stay beneath the water.

As we wandered, we were approached by a guide who offered to give us a tour. "Then you pay me money!"
We politely declined and set off to explore on our own. It was possibly a mistake, as there were almost no signs explaining what we were looking at, so anything I write here is wild conjecture and, most likely, totally wrong.

The cave was small and dark, as one would expect a cave to be. After poking about a bit, we wandered out to explore the rest of the area. It was set up in a rough sort of path, designed to lead visitors through the complex and then back to the parking lot where vendors can offer to sell you cheap crap that nobody needs.
What is striking to me in Bali is the juxtaposition of stunning natural beauty and horrific filth and trash. Along the path, we passed gorgeous plants and flowers, piles of festering trash and, oddly, a toilet just for the holy man.

As we continued along the path, searching for the Buddhist temple, we ran into more vendors, cleverly concealed in a deep jungle gorge along the pathway. Two women sat in separate stalls, each crammed with trinkets and carved wooden figures. And that's when it started to pour again.
Fortunately, the vendors had roofs.
Unfortunately, we were alone with them and the REALLY REALLY wanted us to buy things.

We politely passed, but the downpour didn't. We escaped and cowered under the roof of an empty stall nest to theirs, but they kept popping out and proffering their wares in the rain.
"Hey, Lady? You want tree? No? Buddha? No?"
Finally, we relented and bought a small hand-carved Buddha and a small tree of life carving. We got to try our haggling skills, which are very, very weak. We bought them for 150,000 IRD each (about $9). They would have been a bargain at a quarter of the price, but we like them and now our souvenir shopping is almost done!
Once we bought something, the vendors were very happy to continue trying to sell us more things.
Soon, two more tourist suckers wandered into their lair and we fled, our tiny umbrellas comically unfit for duty against this torrential rain.
We wandered along the path in search of the Buddhist temple, admiring the small shrines and temples along the way. We soon came to a small, but raging waterfall.

We narrowly avoided a shrieking, howling tumble into the roiling water where you would definitely drown under the lovely waterfall and finally found the Buddhist temple.

We found our way back to the car and apologized to Kadek for dripping all over his car. We were soaked, but we had more places to visit, so let's go...


...sit in traffic!

Our next stop was just a few miles and a few hours away. Taman Ayun Temple is a UNESCO world heritage site.That sounds super impressive and if I were a better, more responsible human, I'd know what it actually means. It's important. I know that.
The temple complex (I keep using that phrase because many of the "temples" are actually large areas with many buildings where people are welcome to visit; the actual temples within these complexes are all off limits to visitors who aren't there to give offerings and worship) was very neat and well maintained. There were moss-covered stone paths through large bamboo stands and beautiful gardens. The slippery paths were covered with writhing swarms of caterpillars that it was nearly impossible to avoid stepping on. They made a festive crackling sound as they popped underfoot, giving the afternoon stroll a queasy, sickening element that I will work hard to wash from my memory with Arak.
In a likely moment of instant Karma, after assiduously trying and failing to avoid stepping on caterpillars, I slipped and fell hard on the right hand. I bent my thumb back in a gruesome way. I was certain that I had broken it and, having seen a few of the local health care facilities, began contemplating how best to amputate it, which seemed the safest option. I had  decided on nail clippers as my only viable option when I realized that my thumb was moving fine. It hurt badly, but probably isn't broken. I'm certain that Tylenol and Arak will prove medically efficacious.
The actual temple is a beautiful island in the middle of a small, man-made pond, protected by fences and embankments. It has a large assortment of intricate, thatch-roofed structures that tower skyward in an ever shrinking series of roofs. There are away an odd number, raging from 3 to 11. No. I don't know why.
Here are a bunch of random photos from the temple complex.

I know that my "Spot the Monkey" gag was obnoxious, but it was for a reason (beyond the fact that I am obnoxious). Our next stop is the Ubud Sacred Monkey Forest. We hopped in Kadek's car and we headed off to watch monkeys groom each others buttholes.
I mean, that wasn't our main purpose in going, you understand, but it sort of turned into a theme throughout our visit to the forest. When you arrive, you are greeted with some of the tourist world's greatest signage.

Once finished reading the signs telling you that the monkeys are going to steal everything you own, including your soul, you enter the park through a dark, slippery tunnel.

Once inside, it was a delightfully hot, crowded mess of people from all over the world, pushing and jostling one another to get pictures of monkeys examining themselves in ways that are not socially appropriate in most human societies. Kerri started to get a bit skittish after seeing 2 people get jumped by monkeys.
"Jeez, "I sighed. "It's not like they have knives or something."
"They just took that lady's phone! And her glasses!"
"She still has her scalp, though, so that's a good thing." I said. "It's fine."

I enjoyed watching the people react to the monkeys even more than I enjoyed the monkeys. One kid, maybe 8 years old, was gleefully singing at the top of his lungs with a heavy German accent, "That monkey is sniffing the other monkey's butt!" over and over again. He was clearly in a religious sort of fugue-state brought on by utter, blissful delight. I almost joined him because it was true.
And it was hilarious.
There were lots of monkey shenanigans, some monkey fights, some monkey lovin', and a whole load of deeply personal grooming.

I kept seeing signs pointing toward "Graveyard" and "Cremation Place". I was morbidly curious, thinking that they maybe buried dead monkeys, so naturally, I followed the signs.
I was very, very wrong.

Kadek explained this to us on the car ride home. Balinese people prefer to be cremated, but most of them cannot afford it. Bodies are buried in graveyards so family members can save money. Then, when they have saved enough money, villages conduct mass cremations where they dig up the buried bodies and burn them. This village (Pandangtegal) does it every 5 years. Other villages have different schedules.

I have no idea what the village's graveyard is inside the Monkey Forest.

On the way out, I saw two statues of equal awesomeness to the butt sniffing statue. Kerri will not allow me to install these in our yard, no matter how much I begged. She clearly does not appreciate fine art.

We drove back to the villa, we were surprised to find our friend the bat, still asleep on the chair where we left it.
"Maybe it will fly off when it gets dark," I suggested.

We were warily watching the bat and waiting for Ayu to arrive to make dinner when we realized that we had forgotten to order dinner for tonight. So we drank cocktails and I attempted to hobble together a meal from cheap, packaged ramen noodles, an onion, and a pepper, and a carrot.

At least the drinks were tasty.

I had a fitful night last night. It may surprise some of you to know that I am a planner. I like to know what's happening and how things work. It's a bit stressful for me to function in The Cloud of Unknowing. But Bali is giving me many, many wonderful opportunities to work on that character flaw. I have no idea what's going on here. And that has to be okay.
Our first week will be spent at a villa called Villa Bo-Sofie. It's in a section of East Ubud, nestled snugly in between the jungle and many, many active rice fields being farmed by many, many rice farmers, all of whom have wicked looking curved sickles with them. Do not mess with the rice farmers!

We awoke to a torrential downpour. I'd be lying if I said that didn't disappoint me a little. You can't control the weather, but I was hoping for some sun on this trip. The weather app on my phone indicated rain for the next 150 years straight in Bali, though.
As I moped a bit about the weather, sipping my Balinese coffee (which is a wicked brew designed to give you the energy you might need to harvest an entire rice field in 13 seconds), the rain stopped and the sun came out. I would quickly learn that a weather app in Bali is about as useful as a spaghetti seatbelt.
The cook, Ayu, arrived to make us breakfast. She has a huge smile and a delightful personality, though she doesn't speak much English. We tried hard to learn some Balinese before we arrived so we could at least greet people and say "Thank you" and "I like spicy food."
That latter phrase would come back to hurt my mouth and other orifices many, many times in Bali.
Ayu was not impressed with my Balinese an, in fact, pointed out that I was speaking Bahasa. Badly.
There are a LOT of islands in Indonesia. They each have their own language. It would only be a bit of a stretch to say that it is something like if every state in the US had it's own distinct language; not just dialects like Hillbilly or Redneck or Cowboy.
Totally different languages.
But they all speak Bahasa, which is the official language of Indonesia, so they can all communicate.
Ayu was determined to teach me Balinese; not that Bahasa crap.
Imagine a cross between Spanish, with the tightly rolled R's, and Mandarin with the sliding, tonal Nyuuuugh sounds that, at least for my mouth, are very challenging. And Ayu was not having any of my wimpy American crybaby crap. "Ayu, this is hard. You are breaking my mouth. Please. Just cook us a tasty breakfast!"
But the lessons continued. When I mispronounced, she told me. I half expected her to crack my knuckles with a ruler. Or to invite the dude with the machete in as a learning incentive.
'You like your fingers? THEN SAY RAHAJENG SEMENG!" ("Good Morning" in Balinese.)
Here is how I wrote it for myself: Rrrrrah ha jung suh müng.
Go ahead, try it out. Rrrrrrroll that R, baby!
She repeated phrases several times and I wrote them on my phone phonetically so I could repeat them.
When I repeated one properly, her face lit up and she laughed.
Honestly, she was delightful and we really enjoyed her. And then she started cooking and we loved her more.
Everything Ayu made was magically delicious. Our first breakfast was fresh fruit, toast, and an omelette. It would be the last western-style food we'd have for a long time. We're here to eat like locals!
Sort of.
But, honestly, not really.
The locals like their food spicy, salty, and, in many cases, swarming with a carpet of lethal, ass-destroying bacteria as thick as peanut butter. More on that a bit later.
After breakfast, the house manager, Wayan of course, showed up to tell us how things work. Wayan was a small man with a big smile and loud laugh. He had been a tour guide for 30 years and was obviously very proud of Bali. He wanted us to see the Real Bali and experience the culture, which is exactly what we wanted.
He explained about how rides with the drivers work (call the day before to book a ride) , how much they cost (100,000 IRD/ hr - about $6.25 USD when we were there) and how meals work. We order the day before and they prepare whichever meals we order at the Villa for us. It was a fixed price for each meal and we paid at the end of the week. We didn't get to pick the meal. It was a fixed menu and food would just arrive, as if by magic. Or by scooter.
No problem. And, I honestly felt much better just having a sense of how things worked. I asked him why the wall of vegetation was making mooing sounds. He looked at me oddly and tactfully ignored my question.
Ayu and Wayan left and while we waited for our ride, we went for a dip in the pool. Just as we were getting out, a man wandered down the steps from the house. He was not, as far as I could tell, carrying a machete, which was promising.
He was, in fact, the pool guy. He spoke almost no English but told us that he was there for the pool and only came once a week.
Conversations have begun looking a lot like playing charades. There is lots of acting out, miming, and laughter.
The people in Bali all seem very friendly and genuinely nice.
Even when they are carrying machetes.
I hope.
Kadek arrived and we set out for our small first adventure in Bali - a visit to a place where they dye fabric using batik so we could buy sarongs to wear at the temples. Yes, you will get to see me in my sexy sarong, but not today, kids.
First, however, we needed money. Kadek drove us to a bank of ATMs. I was so enthralled by being in Bali that I started taking photos of every random thing along the ride. Here is a small sampling of the stupid shit I photographed that day:

Kadek helped me navigate the ATM's. The first one didn't work and I started to panic a bit. We finally got the second one to work and I withdrew 3.5 million rupia (about $180) so I felt crazy rich with this huge stack of 100,000 rupia bills.
Armed with my fat wad of cash, we went to the batik place and saw how they make batik and do traditional weaving.

We weren't allowed to take photos inside the store, but please imagine a lot of really beautiful fabrics, all hand made by local people who pass their craft down from generation to generation. We bought sarongs and you will see a lot of them soon. Be patient.
After the batik place, we stopped at an art gallery, at my request. The art on display rode the line between beachside airbrush t-shirt art and those pop-up stores along the side of the road where you can buy unironic paintings of wolves on black velvet. The employee, who never moved more than 5 feet from me for my entire visit–as if he were afraid I might pocket the 8 foot tall airbrushed painting of Bob Marley riding a dolphin in space–assured me that this was all the work of local artists. I'm afraid that doesn't speak well for the state of the visual arts in Bali.
From there, LUNCH! Kadek told us he knew a great place for Balinese noodles (mie goreng) and crispy duck (bebek goreng) a local specialty.

As we pulled into the parking lot, a tour bus pulled in alongside us and my heart sank.
I have an equation I use while traveling: Tour Busses + Food = Disappointment.
However, the bus was empty. The driver was getting his lunch.
The corollary to my equation is: Locals + Food = AWESOME!
This, however was not to be the case in Bali.
The locals eat at small cafes called warungs. Any guides about Bali warn the unwary traveler NOT to eat at these. After seeing about 50,000 of them along the road today, I didn't need the warning. They are eating establishments that are not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. Wayan told us this morning that they cook the food in the morning and it sits in the sun all day until people buy it. "It's okay for us," he said, laughing, "But you shouldn't eat there."
I didn't need to be told twice. I honestly didn't even need to be told once. I like to enjoy local food, but shy away from puking and pooping myself to death as a result.
So, my new maxim for Bali is: Tour busses + food = not screaming myself to death on the toilet.
Kadek wandered into the restaurant with us and sat down at the table, so we bought him lunch. Kerri, in a bold move, got the crispy duck. I had mei goreng with a fresh salsa-like condiment called Sambal Mattah, which was absolutely amazing and I will be eating much, much more of if I have any say in the Mattah. DAD JOKE!!

On the way home, we stopped at a small grocery store (the only kind on Bali) and picked up some snacks, some rum and a local rice spirit called Arak. Like the warungs, the internet is full of warnings about Arak and it's fanciful ability to make you go blind or dead, or both. There does seem to be a thriving moonshine industry in Bali and I hope the warnings are about the homemade variety. The bottle I bought seems legit, sitting in the shelf next to the Captain Morgan rum. We bought an orange drink called Jungle Juice and a box of guava juice with which to dilute the possibly deadly Arak.
Back at the villa, I paid Kadek for our ride from the airport (I didn't have enough cash to pay him last night, which was mortifying) and for our drive today. The total was about $65 USD. I would gladly have paid 10 times that much NOT to have to drive in Bali. It is insane on the roads there.
Kadek did a 52 point turn on the tiny road in front of the villa and headed off for his home.
I mixed up a couple drinks (Arak, Jungle Juice, and guava - henceforth and forever to be called Bali Bangers). Walking down to the pool to enjoy our drinks, I asked Kerri about the mysterious mooing wall. "Do you hear that? The wall is mooing."
"Maybe you should consider not drinking any more of that Arak," Kerri suggested helpfully.
"But it's mooing," I insisted. "That wall is mooing. Is it a miracle?"
"Maybe," Kerri said. "But it seems more likely that it's that cow on the other side of the wall."

We sipped our Bali Bangers in the pool and watched a different random dude with a different machete wander around at the tree line behind the villa.
"Should we...?"
"Nope."

Ayu arrived and made us an amazing meal of chicken satay, tuna cooked in banana leaves, rice, veggies, and corn fritters, which were unexpected and delicious. She quizzed me on my Balinese and taught me how to say "Good evening," which is even harder for my American mouth than "Good morning".

After dinner, we sat and listened to the incredible noise of the bird, bugs, frogs, lizards, men creeping through the brush with machetes, and cows as the sun went down. We ended the day with a sound meditation before bed. Tomorrow is a busy day.

You may or may not be amazed to hear that traveling 9,991 miles to nearly the exact opposite side of the world, isn't as easy as it may seem. We'd been planning a big trip for our 25th wedding anniversary and ultimately decided on Bali because:

a) We'd never been there.
b) Nobody we knew had ever been there.
c) Why not?

Our plans for the trip got scrapped last year because Kerri had two knee replacements and a spinal surgery and was sort of being a big baby about not wanting to travel while she was recovering from 3 major surgeries. So we put it off a year and, as a result, were able to add an extra week to the trip. We figured that since it's not easy to get there, we might as well stay for as long as we could.

Kerri's mother is part of some sort of mysterious time-share cult or something and she very kindly offered to let us use some of her points (a confusing payment system for getting timeshares all over the world - I won't even pretend to understand how that all works) to book a week at a resort in Bali. It was very generous of her. Thanks, Barbara!

So, we booked one week at a swanky resort on the southern tip of Bali. We decided to use Airbnb to book a place in the center of Bali and another one on the north shore. The thing we discovered about Bali is that is is ridiculously inexpensive to stay there. Getting there is something else entirely, but once you're there, it's not too pricey at all. We booked two beautiful Airbnb's. The one on the northern coast was an embarrassingly huge villa that sleeps 8. It was right on the shore with a staff and a huge pool. It cost less per night than a cheap hotel in New Hampshire (I'm looking at you and your alarming stains and unpleasant smells, Days Inn).

After much planning and researching, it was time to go. We loaded suitcases into our son's truck and headed down to Boston to begin almost 40 hours of travel, which was even less fun than it sounds. It became a blur of airports, time zones, and leg cramps so I won't even try to differentiate days in this post.

Our first flight was from Boston to Dubai. It was a quick 12 hour jaunt over Greenland, Iceland, and Sorebuttland. We flew on Emirate Air and, since we were unwilling and unable to shell out for the $20,000+ first class seats, we squeezed into our seats and made the best of it. The flight included 2 full meals, a snack, and all the leg cramps we could possibly want. To give the airline it's due, the food was actually pretty good. Each meal had two options for the main course, generally a meat and a vegetarian offering. The vegetarian were most often Asian or Indian foods that I rather liked. They also came with rolls, desserts (sticky toffee pudding in one glorious instance), snacks, and they offered free wine and hard alcohol to accompany your meal, should you so choose.

I so chose.

Eating in the cramped confines of our seats gave us something to focus on besides our aching backs and the turbulence provided us with delightful surprise snacks later as we pulled escaped grains of rice, nuts, or entire dinner rolls from the folds of our clothes where they had spilled.

The airline offered a huge collection of entertainment from all over the world so I spent some time watching Apocalypse Clown and Shawn of the Dead, both of which, I enjoyed. Go ahead. Judge all you want.

Kerri, in a moment of utter madness, had selected window and middle seats for us. The person sitting in the aisle seat sat down for take-off, fell asleep, and never woke up at all, except for the 42 times I excused myself to climb over him and wander around the plane to stretch my legs. Just as I began to fear that  I couldn't take sitting for one more minute, I realized that we only had 9 hours left on the plane and I didn't have any option except to take sitting.

We did, of course, land in Dubai. Eventually.

After a fitful hour and a half of anxiety, we got back on the shuttle and headed back to the airport, ready for the final 9 hour flight to Bali. They suggest getting to the airport at least 3 hours before your flight. We had no idea what to expect for crowds, but oddly, even in Dubai, some people like to sleep, so we were at our gate and ready to go 3 hours before boarding time.
The airport is more like a mall than an airport. there are high end stores selling luxury items as far as you can see.  One of my favorites was selling chocolate made from the finest camel's milk. We wandered around and gawped like slack-jawed yokels at the opulence and finery on display. I loved seeing the traditional outfits from around the world and hearing the swirl of so many different languages as we passed through the crowds.

We decided to exchange some money so we would have some cash on hand when we arrived in Bali. They first changed it into dhirams and then into rupia. I realized afterward that that was a sleazy method for getting us a much worse exchange rate. We exchanged $100 and got over a million rupia and a balance of about $3 in dirhams. With no other chance to use the dirham, we bought a candy bar from a vending machine.

As there was no camel milk chocolate in our price range, we opted for something equally exotic. Chocomail Cornflake-filled chocolates.  All I will say about this candy that sounds like the bastard dessert cousin of some midwestern casserole monstrosity is that the resultant corn flake mess in our teeth gave us something to do while we waited for out plane to board.
We sat, sucking the last of the cornflake detritus from our long unbrushed teeth until our flight finally started boarding.  This plane, like everything else in Dubai except the cornflake cups, was huge.

Our first meal on this short 9 hour flight was breakfast. I had a delicious Prawn Yaki Soba. And wine. Yeah. I know! Fancy, right? The cabin crew was from 20 different countries and spoke 21 different langues. It was really amazing.
Our second meal was a choice of chicken curry or an omelette. Naturally, I got the curry. And wine. Kerri got the omelette. I particularly enjoyed hearing the stewardess pronounce "omelette". She said it like she was afraid of breaking the O's . It was a rolling, juicy word in her mouth and it made me laugh.
Sleep deprivation is real, kids.

After just 9 hours full of strong sensation in our nether regions, we landed in Bali.

We were herded through customs, passport control, and several other booths, gates, and tollbooths. We had to buy a visa for our stay that cost a million IRD. So much for feeling rich with that fat wad of Balinese cash I was flashing.

We had a bit of trouble with a customs declaration that Kerri had filled out online in advance. We waited at kiosks to fill it out, had no luck, got into the long line of people, were turned away and told to go back to the kiosks to print out a QR code. After trying unsuccessfully for several minutes, Kerri realized that we had them printed out in our backpacks.
Oops.
Did I mention that we were very, very tired?

Our luggage took about an hour to arrive. While we waited, I sent a message to our driver, who was supposed to be waiting for us.
He replied:
"I here. I wait when you ready. No problem."

Our driver was Kadek, a 25 year old kid who was really nice. Bali has a traditional naming system for babies. The firstborn is named Wayan, Putu, or Gede. The second is named Made or Kadek. The third is Nyoman or Koman. The fourth is named Ketut. If a family has more than four children, the cycle repeats itself, and the next 'Wayan' may be called Wayan Balik, which loosely translates to 'another Wayan'.
It's absolutely not confusing at all.

We had heard rumors about the traffic in Bali, but nothing can prepare you for the absolute mayhem of the streets there. I'm not going to belabor it here, because there will be a lot about the traffic in these blog posts. A lot.

Kadek chatted away in his broken English, pointing out statues with insights like, "Statue." Actually he was very kind and helpful and offered suggestion of things we might like to see in Bali. I'm sure Kerri would have paid better attention if she hadn't fallen asleep sitting upright in the back seat. As she dozed, we passed 30,000 stores and cafes, 27 million scooters and motorbikes whizzed past us each second, men dug giant holes in the road in the dark at 8:30 on Saturday night, working by the headlights of their small trucks. It was all overwhelming and would very soon become our everyday.

The  27 mile ride to the villa took about an hour and a half. This, too, would become a feature of this trip. you can't get anywhere quickly in Bali.

As we got nearer the Villa, the road, already tiny, got narrower and narrower until we were on a path that was really just a few inches wider than the small car. A motorbike parked at the side of the road was enough to stop us. Kadek had to get out and move it into the grass so we could pass.

We arrived at the villa and were greeted by Komang, who was waiting with freshly opened coconuts with straws in them. He gave them to us to drink and showed us around the villa, which was gorgeous.

We thanked him and bid him goodnight before dropping into the bed and sleeping really hard for a really long time.

We were in Bali.