I woke up the second morning in Bali when something fell on my lip. It was small, so I didn't freak out too bad, but something fell on my mouth. I will be sleeping on my stomach from now on.
Day 4 of wearing the same pants, at least I crammed myself into some teenagers short sleeve shirt and a pair of flip flops. Got up this morning and tried desperately to spell desperate and to call Korean Air. Since my cell doesn't get coverage in Indonesia, I tried everything - the hotel phone (which actually worked, but it is going to cost me half the budget deficit of California and they told me they weren't open - so why did you answer the phone?). I downloaded Skype but it failed to load about 20 times, I stopped in an internet cafe and tried Skype from there, no luck. I stopped at a telecom center but they informed me they didn't do phone service any more. I swiped my guide's cell, but it was all drama because he had to load $50 on it to just call the damn country of Korea. I stopped into my friend's travel agency and we got a connection through the fax machine, but when it picked up, the whole message was in Korean and I didn't know what they were telling me to do, so I hung up crying. That also cost me $50. I think I might be getting rolled.
I finally got into another pointless conversation with someone in Indonesia with Korean Air connections. He kept asking me why I didn't report the bag loss to Korean Air when I was in Seoul and I repeated that they had told me about 10 seconds before take off. I couldn't jump out of the plane and run to baggage claim. Plus, my cell doesn't work in Asia at all and I couldn't really google the handy number for, "where the fuck did you put my bag in Korea". Finally, someone claimed that my bag was arriving tomorrow morning and I would have to pick it up at the airport to claim it. OK, another pointless hour wasted on a pair of underwear that fits and something a little more tropics friendly than jeans, but I was elated.
We finally got underway to do something other than find a way to call Korea. Natasha, a friend of mine from Bali, had offered her brother's tour company services to me as a travel gift. She is literally the nicest person in the world. I don't know how she does it, but she gives off good vibe and love like she is good incarnate.
The guide started me off at a museum which was beautiful architecturally, but the inside was a bit gory. It showed the history of Indonesian independence through dioramas and they spared nothing. It is a pretty messed up history - first the Dutch, then the Dutch, then the Dutch, then the Japanese, then Suharto - all of whom were pretty cruel rulers.
We then headed to an artist colony. I was picturing ravers living in a box, but these guys had a gorgeous spread. Every room had a different artistic style since the Indonesians were influenced by so man different cultures. There was some trippy modern stuff, flowery tropical stuff, killer classic Balinese work and some flat out porn. Something for everyone!
Then we headed to an ancient temple that was built in the 8th century. It was stunning and I wish I had my camera, but....They are all preparing for the day of silence and are doing ceremony after ceremony to prepare. I couldn't have picked a better time if I just plunked some dates on the interwebs and hit send (which I did).
We hit a few more places where people tried to roll me for cash, but eventually got to the monkey forest. The first time I heard the term "monkey forest" it filled me with excitement and joy. I pictured a bunch of monkeys in the forest and I was right! Those suckers were everywhere! Swinging from the trees, jumping down and running up to you, trying to steal things when you sat down, crawling up your leg - it was nuts. The best part was today happened to be a ceremony for the animals, so the locals celebrated it in the forest with offerings, prayer, monkey presents, a monkey play and gamelon. I was always confused my gamelon because there was too much going on. I like my music to stay real simple with “ntch ntch ntch” or a nice old school punk drum beat. Maybe even a marching band. But simple, uncomplicated rhythms are a must. This was really beautiful and powerful and most importantly, it made the monkeys dance. They would go crazy when the beat sped up like over the hill hippies at Folk Life, they would calm down during the slower parts and the baby monkeys were the most spastic of all. You know when you see a 4 year old just jamming to some beat in their heads with some sweet epileptic dance moves? That is what baby monkeys do. Intelligent breaking, they call it. Now.
I got back to my room and thought about drinking a beer, but they are $30. Each. That is an ingenious way to keep people on the sober path - price them right out of it. The Australians are having none of that BS though - they are charging up their debit cards with $100 drinking sprees that only consisted of 3 drinks. Crazy pants.
Tomorrow I get my clothes, but more importantly, my camera. I have to share the crazy beauty of this place with my friends. The entire country is a shrine to the land and animals and people and God and it is ripping that scab right off my soul.
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