My last day in Ubud, I chartered a car and a driver to look around Bali a little bit. We went up to see the peak and crater of Mount Batur from Kintamani. Outside of Ubud, shops and workshops ran with hardly a break for 25 kilometers up the slope. It was as though Mount Batur was a volcano of tat, and had just erupted.
I had no idea where else to go, because I haven't really done any research since August, so the driver just hit some local high points. There's a concrete lookout above a wedge of terraced rice paddies, and that was on our way, so we went there. It's an interesting spot, because you get a good look at Bali's twin industries of rice growing and exhibiting the growing of rice.
Kintamani is famous for its hawkers and, secondarily, for its view of the peak and crater lake of Mount Batur. Hawkers mark you as you drive up and then form a kind of entourage and follow you around. However, people have been trying to sell me silly things every few minutes for over two months, and I hardly noticed.
The driver asked: Do you like agriculture? I am passionate about agriculture. So he brought me to a lush private garden where bananas, durian, dragonfruit, coffee, cardamom, cinnamon, and betel were being grown. In the middle was a large cage where two civets were curled up asleep. At the back, there was a fire where the coffee was roasted, a shelter with picnic tables, and at least three generations of a large and cheerful Balinese family. They set out small cups with samples of coffees, teas, and cocoas, 'for free' (off to the side, I could see the shop where I'd be obliged to buy something later). Also on offer, for 30,000 rupiah, was kopi luwak, the famous coffee of beans that have passed through the digestive system of a civet. It came in a big pink mug. Much as I'd like to have been able to say 'mm, you can really taste the civet', there was nothing really remarkable about it.
We also hit the temple of Goa Gajah: A small cave with a carved entrance, and some ponds full of fish. There were the usual signs at the entrance, forbidding the entrance of menstruating women and asking visitors to dress modestly. Inside, kids up from Kuta wandered around, the girls having arranged the modest shawls they'd borrowed so their cleavage was still visible. A group of snickering locals stood on the platform. One of them hauled me up onto it, urged me to 'enjoy life', poured out a drink for me from an open bottle of clear liquid, and offered his service as a guide to the tiny site.
One interesting thing about the temple of Goa Gajah, apart from the small cave with the elaborately carved entrance and the amazingly sketchy guides, is that it has maybe the worst washroom I've seen so far. Travelling around Asia turns you into kind of a connoisseur of bad washrooms, and this one was impressive. There's a long, slick, narrow path along a precipice (well, a very steep hill), and then a jumble of porcelain covered in thick black mould. Outside, there was a screw-top jar for washroom fees which, interestingly, was full of money.
My idea had been that I'd fly into Bali and then make my way to Jogyakarta on Java. But a nearby volcano, Mount Merapi, has been erupting, and there's been talk of evacuating the city. Which takes away some of the appeal of going there.
Instead, I came over to Lombok, the island immediately East of Bali. I'd hoped to take a boat; partly because I thought that might be interesting, partly because there are erupting volcanos on Java that have smaller carbon footprints than me right now. But the fast boats are notorious for causing seasickness and turning over unexpectedly, the medium-speed boat wasn't running, and the slow boat is slow. That might not seem like a serious problem, but when something is 'slow' by Indonesian standards, it means you get passed by people standing on faster-moving tectonic plates. In the end, I flew. Figuring all this out and and making the arrangements took about six hours. I've been travelling in Asia for 70 days, and I've found nothing that harrows the soul like trying to book a flight with Garuda Indonesia.
I was a bit worried about the flight, because the way I'd bungled the planning for this particular part of the trip was to arrange two bookings for the same flight. I also hadn't bothered to print out my confirmation, and Denpasar turned out to be one of those airports (Delhi was another) where guards at the entrance check confirmations before letting you into the building. Luckily, like Delhi, they're open to being convinced that you actually do have a flight to catch, and the woman at the check-in counter just smiled understandingly in a "that's OK, we deal with idiots all the time" sort of way when I explained about the duplicate booking.
The flight itself was a ridiculous 25-minute hop. Before the plane had leveled out, staff were speeding up the aisle distributing oddly-shaped drink packets. The woman beside me packed hers and her friend's into an airsickness bag to take away. They pulled out a little bottle of something very pungent - maybe peppermint oil - and dabbed themselves with it every few minutes. On landing, one of them belched several times in a vaguely ceremonial way.
It was after dark when we got into Lombok. I saw the island in little flashes as the headlights swept the side of the road: Tiny food stands, teenaged couples sitting together on parked scooters, people fishing, tall, spindly palm trees, and cattle.
I had no idea where else to go, because I haven't really done any research since August, so the driver just hit some local high points. There's a concrete lookout above a wedge of terraced rice paddies, and that was on our way, so we went there. It's an interesting spot, because you get a good look at Bali's twin industries of rice growing and exhibiting the growing of rice.
Kintamani is famous for its hawkers and, secondarily, for its view of the peak and crater lake of Mount Batur. Hawkers mark you as you drive up and then form a kind of entourage and follow you around. However, people have been trying to sell me silly things every few minutes for over two months, and I hardly noticed.
We also hit the temple of Goa Gajah: A small cave with a carved entrance, and some ponds full of fish. There were the usual signs at the entrance, forbidding the entrance of menstruating women and asking visitors to dress modestly. Inside, kids up from Kuta wandered around, the girls having arranged the modest shawls they'd borrowed so their cleavage was still visible. A group of snickering locals stood on the platform. One of them hauled me up onto it, urged me to 'enjoy life', poured out a drink for me from an open bottle of clear liquid, and offered his service as a guide to the tiny site.
One interesting thing about the temple of Goa Gajah, apart from the small cave with the elaborately carved entrance and the amazingly sketchy guides, is that it has maybe the worst washroom I've seen so far. Travelling around Asia turns you into kind of a connoisseur of bad washrooms, and this one was impressive. There's a long, slick, narrow path along a precipice (well, a very steep hill), and then a jumble of porcelain covered in thick black mould. Outside, there was a screw-top jar for washroom fees which, interestingly, was full of money.
My idea had been that I'd fly into Bali and then make my way to Jogyakarta on Java. But a nearby volcano, Mount Merapi, has been erupting, and there's been talk of evacuating the city. Which takes away some of the appeal of going there.
Instead, I came over to Lombok, the island immediately East of Bali. I'd hoped to take a boat; partly because I thought that might be interesting, partly because there are erupting volcanos on Java that have smaller carbon footprints than me right now. But the fast boats are notorious for causing seasickness and turning over unexpectedly, the medium-speed boat wasn't running, and the slow boat is slow. That might not seem like a serious problem, but when something is 'slow' by Indonesian standards, it means you get passed by people standing on faster-moving tectonic plates. In the end, I flew. Figuring all this out and and making the arrangements took about six hours. I've been travelling in Asia for 70 days, and I've found nothing that harrows the soul like trying to book a flight with Garuda Indonesia.
I was a bit worried about the flight, because the way I'd bungled the planning for this particular part of the trip was to arrange two bookings for the same flight. I also hadn't bothered to print out my confirmation, and Denpasar turned out to be one of those airports (Delhi was another) where guards at the entrance check confirmations before letting you into the building. Luckily, like Delhi, they're open to being convinced that you actually do have a flight to catch, and the woman at the check-in counter just smiled understandingly in a "that's OK, we deal with idiots all the time" sort of way when I explained about the duplicate booking.
The flight itself was a ridiculous 25-minute hop. Before the plane had leveled out, staff were speeding up the aisle distributing oddly-shaped drink packets. The woman beside me packed hers and her friend's into an airsickness bag to take away. They pulled out a little bottle of something very pungent - maybe peppermint oil - and dabbed themselves with it every few minutes. On landing, one of them belched several times in a vaguely ceremonial way.
It was after dark when we got into Lombok. I saw the island in little flashes as the headlights swept the side of the road: Tiny food stands, teenaged couples sitting together on parked scooters, people fishing, tall, spindly palm trees, and cattle.
