Bali Day 2 - I'm a millionaire again. Briefly.

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!

Here's a tour of where we are:

This is the road heading back into town. It's seriously about 6 feet wide.

Past the villa, the road gets even narrower.

Our home for the week.

The front gate.

No walls!

You don't wear shoes in houses in Bali. It's considered fairly rude.

The kitchen .

There are temples in almost every home in Bali. The locals leave offerings in them daily.

The back side of the kitchen counter. The path to the right leads to the pool in the back yard.

The living room overlooks the pool, the jungle, and the random dudes wandering through the back yard with machetes.

The bedroom is the only room with walls. And air conditioning!

The kitchen and dining room.

The entire side of the house is a wall of lovely vegetation that makes weird mooing noises.

The pool does not suck.

I'll bet you thought I was joking about the random dudes with machetes in the back yard. I was not.

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:

Wow! A street!

The billboards AREN'T in English!!

Bebek is duck. That is a crispy duck on a plate.

Wow! Another street!

A sign. Also not in English! Wow!

Street repairs are an amazing sight in Bali. This is a trench about 5 feet deep in front of these stores.

Okay, this one is actually really cool. There is SO much public art in Bali. So many statues.

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.

Yup. This restaurant seems promising!

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!!

Mie goreng

Bebek goreng

Koi goreng

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."

Oh. Yeah.

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".

More Sambal Mattah! I love this stuff!

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.

I call this piece: Sunset Without Machetes.