Bali Day 17: Wrong Buddha, Sir.

This is going to be a problem...

Today was intended to be a short day of sightseeing. We were supposed to see The Sleeping Buddha, a huge stone statue of, you probably already figured this out, a sleeping Buddha. It's located at a temple called Vihara Dharma Giri.
Try to remember that for a moment.
Bali is roughly 80% Hindu and 20% Muslim. There are a smattering of Buddhists and we were told that the particular Hinduism practiced by most Balinese people is heavily infused with Buddhist influence. The two blend together quite harmoniously.
I was eager to see the sleeping Buddha statue. After a morning of yoga, coffee, a swim, and a short meditation, Putu arrived 20 minutes early to take us to see that statue, which my GPS said was about 48 minutes away.
Putu, as usual, arrived about 20 minutes early, but we were ready for it this time. Better luck next time, buddy.

My morning meditation spot today. It did not suck.

We hopped in Putu's van and headed off. We have realized that his constant muttering under his breath isn't prayer or exasperation as we had been guessing. I really paid attention today and realized that he was practicing phrases we had just used or he was practicing what he was about to say to us in English. I laughed when I realized this, as I have been doing the exact same thing on this trip - practicing phrases that I want to say properly.
We chatted for the 48 minute drive, which, surprisingly ended after 20 minutes, when Putu pulled into a parking lot and announced, "Here!"
We were, of course, here. Because that's the only place we can ever be.
The problem was, the here where we were wasn't the here where we had planned on being.
The large sign on the front of the temple said "Brahamavihara Arama", not "Vihara Dharma Giri".
"Sleeping Buddha?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Yes. Here."
I shrugged and we went in to buy tickets. I showed the girl selling the tickets the name of the Sleeping Buddha Temple on my phone. "Here?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. Not here. This Brahamavihara Arama."
She spoke to Putu briefly in Bahasa and he turned bright red. He apologized profusely for taking us to the wrong Buddhist temple.
"Tidak apa apa!" I told him. No problem.
I love this phrase. It literally translates as "No what what" which seems to perfectly express the idea is no problem.
In fact, we were delighted by the mistake. The temple was a popular one that many visitors to the villa want to see, so it was a natural mistake for Putu to make. And we are so happy he did.
Brahamavihara Arama was a highlight of the trip for both of us. It was a gorgeous temple compound with elaborate statuary and gorgeous gardens. It was nearly deserted and we had a great time exploring and sweating.
It was brutally hot; a fact driven home when an Australian guy walked past me and pointed at my arms.
"Fuck, mate. You know it's hot when your fuckin' forearms are sweating like that."
Yes. My forearms were just as sweaty as the rest of me. It was fuckin' hot.

Buddhist karaoke!

Everything about he place was stunning.
Except my sweaty forearms.
From there, we drove to the Sleeping Buddha, depite the fact that the first temple had their own tiny Sleeping Buddha. Did you see it in those photos? It's there.
Putu thought it would take about an hour and a half to get to the Sleeping Buddha. It actually took about 50 minutes, which was nice. Unlike the urban sprawl of south Bali, north Bali is quiet and lush and absolutely gorgeous. While there wasn't much traffic, the roads are all small and winding so you really can't get anywhere in a hurry.
Fortunately, we weren't in a hurry. We enjoyed the beautiful scenery until Putu announced that we had arrived.

Vihara Dharma Giri was a very small temple, perched atop a big cliff. There was a large meditation shrine that we were not allowed to enter, a small gazebo, and a large open terrace that held the sleeping Buddha.
At a leisurely stroll, we explored the entire place in 10 minutes.
It was beautiful and tiny.
Except for that Buddha. It was HUGE!

It was small but beautiful.
On our way out, I decided that I'd like to use the bathroom before leaving.
It was my first real Asian style bathroom and it was a new and exciting experience.

Throughout our trip, we have been vary careful to be as respectful of local customs, culture, and traditions as much as we are able. Many places ask you to remove your shoes, which we have done.
This bathroom made a similar request and, karma be damned, I left my shoes on because... ew.
When we hopped back in Putu's van, he pointed to a warung across the street.
"Lunch?" he asked.
Kerri and I looked at the small, filthy shack where greasy glass cases were heaped with wads of something that could, conceivably, be consumed.
But not by us.
I thought desperately for a way to tactfully explain that I'd rather lick the bathroom in the Buddhist temple than eat at that warung.
"Umm...." I mumbled. "Maybe someplace more... ummm... touristy?"
Words I never thought would come out of my mouth, prompted by fear of what might go into my mouth.
""Yes," he agreed eventually. "Too much bacteria for you, maybe."
"Maybe," I said, not adding that it was also probably also too much bacteria for your average dung beetle.
We went to a small, strange seaside resort with tables overlooking the beach.
A family we had seen at the fist temple were there having lunch. Their adult daughter was cavorting with the stray dogs that were roaming around the beach and the restaurant. The food was delicious and contained just the right amount of bacteria for me.

From there, we headed back to the villa.
Wayan the gardener was there. As usual, he greeted us warmly and we chatted for a while. He asked about our plans for tomorrow and we explained that we were planning on going to a different temple on a lake.
Wayan asked if we would mind picking up his mother and delivering her to her village on the way.
"Tadik apa apa!"
No problem.
His mother had been visiting his daughter in the hospital, where she was being treated for Typhus.
He was delighted that we agreed to bring his mother home and, to celebrate, he got me on a Facetime call with his wife, his mother, and his daughter from her hospital room.
It wasn't weird at all.
"Hi. I'm.... uhhh... sorry you have Typhoid Fever."
Seriously. What could I say?
Kerri and I swam until Puto 2.0 and Komang came to make dinner.
Komang brought her daughter again. She is such a sweet little kid.
We played with her out by the pool. I drew with her and got the impression she had never held a pencil before, but I don't know. It was delightful fun with her even though we can't really talk at all.

While we were playing with her, a guy came up to the fence along the beach and started waving wildly. "Come see! Come see! Look at this from the sea!"
He held up something that might have been a giant shell of some sort.
After nearly 3 weeks here, I should have known better, but I wandered over to the fence.
The thing which could have been a shell was, in fact, a big rag that was wrapped around an assortment of cheap plastic crap from China. "From the sea!" he repeated.
"No, thank you," I said, walking away.
"Maybe tomorrow?"
"No. Suksema. Selamat souri."
Thank you. Good evening.
He protested as I walked away, but he eventually wandered off.
Dinner was a spectacular beef stir fry and chicken in a coconut milk sauce. It was incredible.
I still can't get used to being served like this. They do everything to prepare the food then hang around while we eat and then clean everything up.
We watched a cauldron of bats (isn't that a great collective noun?) spiraling next to the house as the sun went down and then enjoyed another gorgeous sunset.

Tomorrow, we transport Grandma and, hopefully, get to the correct temple.