When I began this trip I decided I would select three words that best described each country I visited. Initially I was going to wait until the ed of the trip and compile them all into one post, but I have decided to do this immediately upon departing each country, as the reasons for selecting those particular words will be fresh in my mind. So, here goes for the countries I have visited to date:

VIETNAM

1. Industrious (With the possible exception of Hanoi, people were bustling about everywhere I went – busy selling, buying, doing. Not surprising, since Vietnam is currently the fastest growing economy in the world)
2. Emerging (rather than poor)
3. Stuck (There is severe mistrust between the multitude of ethnic groups that inhabit Vietnam and abiding oppression of the non-Viet peoples by the government; there is distinct dislike between North and South Vietnamese – I heard over and over again from northerners that they wouldn’t want their daughters to marry a slow, stupid southerner and from southerners I heard repeatedly how northerners couldn’t be trusted; and there is severe corruption in the country at the government level. The result is that Vietnam is identity-less – the people themselves do not yet have a feeling for who they are as a nationality, much less a national identity. They are well and truly stuck.)

BALI:

1. Lush (Greenery and lush jungle was everywhere)
2. Spiritual (The most beautiful temples I have seen anywhere in the world)
3. Beautiful (A feast for the eyes in a small island that has such diversity – dense jungle, towering active volcanoes, colorful offshore reefs, and lovely beaches)

CAMBODIA:

1. Corrupt (corruption that trickles down from the very top levels of government to the most insignificant worker – perhaps understandable when viewed in light of the minuscule annual average per capita income of $290)
2. Westernized (Everywhere I found five star hotels and excellent, modern facilities. Street children, in an attempt to get me to buy something, would always try to engage me in conversation, asking, “Where you from?” I would reply that I am from the U.S. and they in turn would say, “Oh, U.S., A-number one! USA, capital Washington, DC, USA have 50 states.” Everyone I met, from the youngest child to the vendor on the street, to the top executive of the hotel, wants to emulate the U.S.)
3. Recovering (Cambodia has been at war for most of its existence, with some of the worst atrocities having occurred during Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge reign of terror. Although the Khmer Rouge were driven from the capitol of Phnom Penh in 1978, the last vestiges of the Khmer Rouge did not surrender until 1998, thus it is not hard to see that this country is just now beginning to recover from a devastating history of violence and ethnic cleansing. Although UN-sponsored elections in 1993 helped to restore some semblance of normalcy in Cambodia, everyone I spoke to with regard to the political situation told me emphatically that Cambodia is not a free country and that they wish to be free like the U.S.)

THAILAND:

1. Exotic (There are still things in Thailand that stun the senses – things that cannot be seen anywhere else in the world)
2. Opulent (At times I thought if I saw one more gold leaf-covered temple my eyes would burn out. The people in Thailand have a high standard of living and prices are exceedingly low)
3. Decadent (Unfortunately, Thailand also has its dark side. The government closes its eyes to the sex trade, which includes adolescent girls and women kidnapped from Burma to be sold into the flesh trade and discarded or sent back to Burma when they become infected with AIDS, where they will most likely be shot. Scams abound in Thailand, with greedy tourists becoming the victims of touts who spin stories about the money that can be made by buying gems in Thailand and selling them in the U.S.)

NEW ZEALAND:

1. Friendly (Without a doubt, the friendliest country I have visited so far. Nary a person said a cross word to me and every person I met, to a fault, was considerate, helpful, and smiling.)
2. Expensive (Zowie – couldn’t even buy a bowl of soup for less than $9 New Zealand, which is about $6.50 US. A typical lunch was around $22 US.)
3. Stunning (Spectacular scenery everywhere I went, with great diversity – the north island is so very green and the south island has those majestic Southern Alps.

I am in Australia now and haven’t begun to think about my three words for this country. That may be more difficult than the rest up to this point because, like the US, Australia is such a huge country and it may well be impossible to nail it down to only three words. We will see….

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The Balinese don’t celebrate wedding anniversaries. They don’t celebrate birthdays much, either. What they do celebrate is their religion. Hinduism is the center of their everyday lives, which are steeped in religious ceremony and tradition. Towns prepare for temple festivals by weaving intricate designs of young palm fronds onto long bamboo poles, which are then displayed all up and down the streets. Each morning the Balinese weave palm leaves into small baskets, filling them with flowers, fruit, and various other food.

Spirit offerings ares set out on the sidewalks each morning

Spirit offerings ares set out on the sidewalks each morning

Temple women prepare and bless offerings before bringing them around to stores

These offerings are left out on the sidewalk in front of the home or shop, placed in the windshield of the car, or placed upon a home altar. There are even groups of women whose job it is to prepare and bless the offerings before delivering them to stores in the market so that the offerings will be fresh throughout the day. By the end of the day the food has been devoured by monkeys, eaten by ants, or picked over by birds and the street is littered with the remains of these offerings. Locals can be seen sweeping them into big piles with long whisk brooms made out of twigs. The next day, the whole process begins anew.

Villagers weave penjors from palm fronds, competing for who can create the most elaborate decorations for festivals

Others create temporary temples by weaving palm fronds and flowers into intricate designs

Women walk down the road in traditional dress, perhaps headed for a wedding, where they will leave the offerings they carry on their heads at the foot of the altar as a gift to the gods

A Balinese man wears a traditional sarong, sash, and saput

The Hindu religion has a myriad of Gods, however the three most important among them are thought to be Brahma, the Creator; Vishnu, the Protector or Maintainer; and Shiva, the Destroyer. Consequently, every village has three major temples, one on the north side to honor Brahma, one in the center to honor Vishnu, and a third on the south side to honor Shiva. Balinese men and women can regularly be seen walking to temple dressed in traditional garb, carrying huge baskets of fruit and flowers on their heads to be left as offerings to the Gods. The ceremonial garb for men consists of a sarong, covered by a shorter saput, both of which are bound by a sash. On their heads they wear the traditional ceremonial headband, knotted in such a fashion that it resembles a hat. Women wear long skirts or sarongs and either colored bras or strapless bustiers, which they cover with see-through lace blouses.

The colors worn are a clue as to what type of ceremony is taking place. White and yellow outfits are worn for temple festivals, dark garments for funerals, and brightly colored outfits for weddings. After my guide explained this to me I thought I was clever when, later, I spied a man dressed in black and white checked saput with a bright red jacket and headband. “Ah, he must be going to a wedding, with all that colorful clothing,” I said. “No, no, he is in traditional dress of security – he provides security for the temple during ceremonies,” Wayan explained. There are so many nuances to the Balinese culture that it would take years to really understand it.

Traditional Balinese dance tells the story of Hindu legends

Ubud, being the cultural and arts center of Bali, is the best place to see performances of the famous Balinese dance. There are at least five different dances to choose from each night. I asked around to find out which was the best one to attend. One of the other guests, who comes to Bali regularly, suggested I hire the front desk clerk, Made, to take me to the nearby village of Batu Bula to see their famous dances. Apparently, Batu Bula is one of the few places where the Fire Walk is performed, and then only twice a week. So I hooked up with Made and we agreed upon a price. He picked me up on his motorcycle at 5:30 PM. We wound our way up and down hills, along curvy mountain roads, reaching Batu Bula half an hour later.

It was during the performance that I really became aware of how very important religion is to Balinese culture. Most Balinese dance, chanting, trance, and singing is a depiction of ancient Hindu legend. In this case the performance told the story of the white monkey, Hanuman, who helped Prince Rama retrieve his beautiful bride, Sita, who had been kidnapped by the demon King Rahwana. This particular performance had no music or orchestra, rather it was accompanied by a chorus of 30 men who chanted in rhythm during the entire hour long performance.

The white monkey, Hanuman, enters the dance

At the end of the performance, a youth enters a trance and walks on fire

The show ended with the Sanghyang Jaran Dance, where an entranced boy dancer on a horse (the horse being represented by palm frond streamers hanging from a frame that the boy carries on his shoulders) dances around and in a bonfire made of coconut husks. At the end, the members of the chorus pull him out of the fire, lay him on the ground, and quickly remove all the burning materials from his feet, body and costume. It was an amazing spectacle.

Beautiful rice terraces are found all over Bali

Beautiful rice terraces are found all over Bali

Although I have been trying to change my flight so I can stay here a few more days, I don’t know if I will be successful, so I am headed down to the southern part of the island tomorrow to be near the airport. If I can change it, I will stay in Sanur for a few days, where they have pure white sand beaches. If not, it’s on to Thailand as originally scheduled. Whatever the Gods decree will be OK with me. There is no doubt that I will come back to this island someday – it is such a beautiful place and there is so much I did not get to see. I will leave you with two more photos – yet more rice terraces, but this time in gorgeous full sunlight that showed off the lush greenery to its best advantage.

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Monkeys run free at the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Ubud

When I finally rolled out of bed this morning at 8AM I threw open the drapes of the window that looks onto my balcony. Instead of the view of the river valley below I found myself gazing into two coal black eyes. A huge monkey from the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary had climbed onto my balcony, perched himself on the table beneath my window, and was gazing intently through the crack in the drapes. Startled, I hopped backward. I’m pretty sure he was just as startled, because he immediately scampered up the wall and sat on the roof tiles above, screeching and clucking.

Since the Monkey Sanctuary is only about 100 feet from my hotel I decided I’d better check it out, so I spent the better part of the afternoon walking around the park watching the antics of the monkeys. Actually, the species on this island and in the Sanctuary are Balinese macaques, also known as long-tailed macaques. Aside from humans, macaques are the most widespread and successful of all primates. About 300 macaques reside in this park. The adult males can weigh up to 22 pounds, have large canine teeth, broad shoulders and facial hair that resembles a mustache. The adult females are smaller (up to 17 pounds) and have long facial hair that looks like a beard. Their coloring ranges from silver to grey to tan, with the largest males being the most silvery. Babies hang upside down from their mothers’ bellies, looking like newborn rats with little or no fur.

This guy had a banana hidden in his pocket and the monkey knew it!

This is their park and they know it. They become aggressive if they feel you are invading their territory. At one place I stopped to watch three monkeys who were playing with a garden hose that was turned on. Each of them put their hands in the water and – I swear – washed their hands. I moved in for a photo and suddenly they bared their teeth and chased me back down the sidewalk. I quickly learned that they are more apt to do this to a solo tourist, so from that point on I stayed close to other visitors. Wayan had warned me not to take food into the park if I visited the Sanctuary. While it is not prohibited to feed the monkeys (in fact, they sell bananas, coconuts and rambutan fruit for them right at the entrance), it is very much a “do so a your own risk activity.” The monkeys attack anyone who has food – like this guy who was hiding bananas under his T-shirt.

They are also quite human-like, eerily so, in fact. In addition to washing their hands, they wash their food. I watched, fascinated, as three different monkeys all rolled some sort of seed around in rain puddles, using the rough pebbles in the concrete to strip away the outer covering of the seed and then washing it thoroughly before eating it. I watched them compete over food, water, and tree perches.

Three monkeys look at thei reflection in a pond

At the watering hole I saw one large monkey casually stroll over to a smaller monkey, pick up its tail and sniff its butt. There are no cages or pens – these animals roam freely throughout the park – and you really have to keep your eyes peeled because you can be surrounded in an instant. It was a fascinating afternoon and a great way to spend yet another rainy day. But for sure, the phrase “monkey business” will never again have quite the same meaning for me.

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“Miss, you come in, I give you free drink.”

“Hello, where you stay? Come sit, try free drink.”

With every step I take along the road in this sleepy village someone tries to lure me into a conversation. So far they have all been sitting under open-air, thatch-top pavilions that serve as restaurants. I just shake my head no and keep walking. I am in search of an Internet Cafe. There is a third guy now, standing on the dirt shoulder of the road.

“Good morning – how are you?” he asks. “I am fine,” I reply. The Balinese are so polite that you want to respond in kind, even when they are in-your-face aggressively trying to sell you something. It is a trap they use very effectively. “Where are you staying?” he asks, in perfect English. I motion to the end of the road, “Down there somewhere,” I say. “I want to be your friend,” he continues. “My name is Delta. You want to go sit on the beach and talk?” He flashes a brilliant smile at me. Delta is about 5’8″ tall with jet-black, curly shoulder length hair and stunningly white, perfectly straight teeth. He is cute and he knows it. He can’t be more than 30 years old, although it is hard to judge age with the Balinese. “Delta, are you hitting on me?” I ask, now being completely impolite. He is taken aback and seems a bit embarrassed, but the smile never falters. “No, no, just friends,” he says, adding, “But very good friends.”

Traditional hand-carved Balinese fishing boat

I am in Amed, fishing and diving town located on the furthest eastern tip of Bali. This is the desert side of the island, so it is hot and dry rather than hot and humid. And it is remote. Few tourists venture this far off the beaten track and even intrepid divers arrive in fewer numbers these days. Bali’s tourism industry was hit hard by the bombing of a nightclub back in 1998, and a second bomb two years ago. It is hard to imagine such a thing on this peaceful island where terrorism is almost unheard of. After the first bombing, governments all over the world posted warnings against traveling to Bali, which is a bit like being warned not to travel to the United States because of the attack in the World Trade Center, but people stayed away in droves. With an economy that is driven by tourism, the result has been devastating for the Bali. So, when the occasional tourist does arrive in an out of-the-way place like Amed, there is no way to escape the pestering.

I explain to Delta that, despite his gorgeous smile, I am not interested (although I am flattered) and continue down the street. Not to be deterred, he walks with me, suggesting first that we have dinner together (my easy excuse is that dinner is included in the price of my room), that we meet on the beach tonight to talk – jut talk (no thanks, I say), and finally, that he take me to snorkel the Japanese wreck a mile off shore in the morning (we’ll see, I say). He finally shrugs and leaves. But this is not the last I will see of him.

View from my balcony at the Vienna Hotel in Amed

The only two Internet Cafes in this town have old-fashioned dial-up connections. I suffer through an excruciatingly slow session that will not allow me to upload any photos and finally settle for just getting my email. It takes over an hour. Back at the Vienna Hotel, I sit in the open-air restaurant, watching the local kids play a riotous game of pick-up soccer on the black sand beach. All the men from the hotel, along with my guide, Wayan, are squatting on the low concrete wall that separates the restaurant from the beach, watching the game and chuckling at the antics. One kid is so skinny he keeps losing his pants, causing him to trip and fall in the sand as he attempts to kick the ball. He just lies there, face down in his orange underpants, with his long shorts around his ankles, laughing. Wayan explains later that it is all part of the game – the kid uses it as a diversion. Halfway through the game Delta joins the men on the wall. I ignore him.

Early the next morning I snorkel out to the reef, which is just about 75 feet offshore, directly in front of my room. The coral reef is mostly muted shades of beige and brown, punctuated by the occasional perfectly circular disc of bright lime green or royal purple. While it is not the most spectacular reef I have ever seen, I have never seen more fish. Huge rainbow Parrot Fish drift lazily along with giant Red Snapper and elegant Queen Angelfish. With my focus on the reef beneath me I am occasionally startled by silvery needle-nose Trumpet Fish that swim by me at the level of my mask. At one point I find myself surrounded by thousand of the tiniest fish – purple and yellow striped Zerbra Fish, iridescent blue Neon Fish, and so many others I cannot identify: one with yellow and white horizontal stripes and a pink underbelly, another that is the purest seafoam green. They dart and zip around, curiously investigating me without ever touching me. Eventually I relax into the snorkeling and just drift along in the water. My breathing slows and I begin to hear the snap, crackle, pop sound of the reef that is the fish eating the coral. At the outer edge of the reef I judge the depth to be about 50 feet and I can see clear to the bottom. I wish I had an underwater camera!

After an hour of snorkeling I drag myself out of the water and plop on the beach. No sooner am I settled on my towel than Delta squats down beside me. I won’t bore you with the details, other than to say that a long conversation ensued about how much he loves me – HA! He finally gives up when another couple wander by that had earlier shown some interest in scheduling a dive trip with him.

My guide, Wayan, introduces me to delicious snakefruit

Later that day, when when Wayan and I hit the road again, I tell him about Delta. “He was the guy talking to you on the beach this morning?” Wayan asked. “Yeah, that’s the guy.” I said. Wayan laughed and said he told his friends, “Watch – he can try but he’s not going to get anywhere with her.” When Delta finally walked away from me, Wayan turned to his friends and said, “See, I told you so, not that one.” I never realized how much he had my back over the past five days. “If this happen again, you just tell them you are traveling with me and I am your boyfriend. Then they will leave you alone.”

We are heading back to Ubud, the cultural and arts center of the island, where I will stay for the next four nights. On the way, Wayan stops at a roadside stand to buy Snakefruit, another of the dozens of unusual tropical fruits that grow here. He has been introducing me to different varieties as we travel around the island. Snakefruit is a round, brown fruit about three to four inches in diameter, that grows in clumps like grapes on the vine. It is named for its rough scaly skin. He breaks one open. Inside are sections that look like giant garlic cloves but taste delicious – astringent in a way that sucks all the water from your mouth, but sweet just the same. I ask about the big round fruit on the other side of shop – it too has a spiky exterior but is green and yellow colored. “That’s called Durian,” he says. “It stinks.” “Does it taste good?” I ask. He wrinkles up his nose. Somehow, I think I m not going to get to sample Durian so I lean over and smell it. It smells rank in in the same way limburger cheese does and I decide Wayan knows best.

Viewing the lava flow from the distant Kintamani volcano

Before returning to Ubud, we make several more stops to see the active Kintamani volcano in the center of the island, driving halfway around the rim and stopping occasionally to see the vistas across its giant caldera. The last eruption was in the 1920′s and the lava flow from that event is still clearly visible as a black gash in the otherwise verdant vegetation.

I am in Ubud now, back at the same hotel where I started this Bali journey. The dead lizard is gone from above the mirror but there still are no towels, toilet paper, or soap in my room. However, I am smarter this time and make a thorough check of the room before the clerk leaves and ask for the missing items to be delivered. In minutes I am well equipped, so I jump in the shower to wash off the sweat of the day. I splash just enough chilly water on me to soap up while I wait for the hot water to arrive – it sometimes takes up to five minutes for the hot water to reach the tap here in Bali. Five minutes later the water is colder. No hot water today – the machine is broken. We are really SO lucky in the United States and we take it all for granted.

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View of Lake Bratan, just before dawn

The knock came gently to my door promptly at 5:30 AM. “Hello, miss, you up?” I couldn’t help but laugh – and be glad I was already awake and downstairs in the bathroom. Otherwise, I never would have heard, much less wake up to this gentlest of knocks. My guide also laughed when I told him about it. “It is a Bali thing. It would be impolite to knock loudly and wake someone up, even when this is what you want. So they come with a gentle tap, tap, tap, instead. Balinese are always very polite.”

Why, you might ask, am I up at this ungodly hour when I am supposed to be enjoying myself? I am on my way to Lake Bratan in the village of Bedugul, where I will photograph the sun rising over the Pura Ulun Danau Bratan. And this is why I must scratch yesterday’s claim that the Brahmavihara Arama Buddhist Monastery is the most beautiful I have ever seen, because it cannot compare with the beauty of Pura Ulun Bratan.

This temple is mostly Hindu, which is the religion of the majority of Balinese, although there is a Buddhist Stupa on the grounds. I am immediately transfixed by the golden morning light playing on the lush grounds and am shooting photo after photo – but my guide hurries me along a path to the water’s edge. Again, I linger over the crystal clear waters, shooting dozens of photos of the colorful Balinese boats tied up at the shore. I watch, fascinated, as a man in a carved canoe glides silently through the reeds and lithely steps out onto the shore. Holding a long bamboo pole high over his head, he stalks the shoreline, crouching tiger-like, so as not to scare the fish. It was like watching one of those Karate movies and I could not imagine what he was doing.

Fisherman slams long stick on the water, stunning the fish, which then float to the top where they can be plucked from the water

Another fisherman casts a net

Suddenly, SPLASH! He swung the bamboo pole with such force that it sent a spray of lake water high over his head. Quickly, he reached down into the water and threw several stunned fish up onto the bank. I rounded the next corner to find an entire family fishing with a throw-net. Each cast brought up five or six tiny fish, until their bucket was overflowing.

Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple at Lake Bratan

Again my guide is motioning me to come. Since he has never done this before (he has always let me go at my own pace) I am curious. I follow him down the concrete walkway that lines the shore until we round a corner where I am stunned into immobility and speechlessness by the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. Lake Bratan is in a volcanic crater, ringed by high, green mountain peaks. We are here before the sunrise, so gently mists fill the crater and clouds hang along the mountain peaks. There is no wind so the lake waters are glassy and reflective. On a finger of land that juts out into the lake is the Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple. No words can do it justice, so I will simply share some photos with you.

Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple at Lake Bratan

Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple at Lake Bratan

Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple at Lake Bratan

We spent the better part of the morning at the temple shooting photos, with me giving Wayan lessons on how to set the proper exposure when shooting into the sun. With every step I see yet another photo opportunity, another angle that begs to be recorded, and I cannot resist. I realize that I don’t see things like other people; rather I see things as if through the lens of a camera. I have already used up two memory cards (I have taken nearly 2000 photos in the last three weeks) and I am going to have to buy a memory stick when I get to Thailand.

Aggressive monkey at a roadside offering eyes me warily as I approach his food

My photo hunger finally sated, we headed back to the village of Bedugul to see the Botanical Gardens and their orchid collection, followed by a trip to the local market. Believe it or not, we beat most of the shopkeepers to their stalls. I buy some exotic fruits but pass on the exotic spices these “Spice Islands” are so famous for – saffron, curry, turmeric, clove, and saffron, among others. I wish I could buy some but I cannot carry the stuff around with me for six months – every ounce counts when traveling long term. Even though I have packed light, I am already jettisoning stuff that I am not wearing or items that are already too big on me. It is so cheap to get laundry done here that I am wearing the same two pants and the same three or four tops over and over again. The only problem is my sandals – they already reek so bad I am ashamed to take my shoes off to enter a temple.

We head back to the hotel at 10:30 AM so I can avail myself of the breakfast that is included with the price of my room. At one spot along the winding mountain roads we pull over at a small temple where the locals leave offerings. The moment they deposit fruit and flowers upon the altar the local monkeys begin to fight over which of them has rights to the food. One big guy scared the crap out of me because, as I was taking photos of him perched on a concrete ledge, I saw him sprint toward me through the lens of the camera. I flew backward down the steps to get out of his way – I thought I’d angered him and he was going to attack me. Wayan explained that I just happened to be between him and the food. Here he is, the victor, eyeing me with suspicion as he chomps away on some tasty morsel.

After breakfast (brunch?) my plan is to take a nap and maybe do some Yoga and, of course, to write. Somehow, I must find a way to convey the incredible beauty of the Pura Ulun Danau Bratan Temple and that is best done while it is fresh in my mind. I go in search of Wayan to discuss the rest of the day and find him napping on the wooden platform under one of the stilt cottages. I just don’t have the heart to wake him so I head for my room. Around noon it begins to rain – really pour – so I grab a book from the hotel’s library and spend the rest of the day just reading and relaxing on my balcony, watching the mists swirl around in the valley beyond. And oh yes, I have filled the sink with soapy water and left my sandals to soak for the rest of the day – I simply cannot continue to offend people who are near me whenever I take off my shoes. For the moment, barefoot is good. Actually, it’s more than good – it’s great!

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View from the open air restaurant at the Puri Lumbug Cottages in Munduk, located in the central mountains of Bali

I am high up in the mountains of north-central Bali, jut outside the village of Munduk. At the moment, I am having dinner at an outdoor restaurant at Puri Lumbug Cottages, where I will spend the next two nights. The view is spectacular – massive mountains with mist clinging to their skirts and clouds kissing their peaks. But this view is only the latest in a day of spectacular sights and experiences so let me begin at the beginning.

I had planned to get up early this morning and lie by the pool for a couple of hours but the day dawned gray again. Instead, I rolled out my Yoga mat and perched myself so I could see the black sand beach and glassy sea just through my hotel room window. Two and a half hours later, having worked out a boat-load of kinks and locked-up muscles, I sighed with satisfaction and headed for breakfast. This is the first time I have done any Yoga since leaving the States. I don’t really know why I didn’t maintain my practice while I was in Vietnam. Perhaps it was the fact that my time there was crammed full of tours or maybe it was the crazy energy of the country that put me off my practice. Whatever it was, it sure feels good to be back to my Yoga.

Wearing a traditional sash and sarong to enter the Brahmavihara Arama Buddhist Monastery

During breakfast the weather Gods smiled. The clouds parted and blessed sunshine poured down, just in time for the day’s touring. Our first stop was the Brahmavihara Arama Buddhist Monastery. I donned the traditional sarong and sash required for visiting a temple and headed up to the top. I’ve seen lots of temples, pagoda, ruins and monasteries over the years but this one ranks among the most beautiful. It wasn’t covered in gilt as in Thai temples, nor was it inlaid with ceramic designs as in Vietnam. It was actually a fairly simple collection of buildings, but they were set amidst stunning gardens and perched high on a hilltop overlooking the ocean. Every inch of this monastery was a reflection of the loving manner in which it is maintained. I slipped a donation in the box, lit two sticks of incense, and offered up a prayer for world peace and the highest good of mankind.

Lotus pads float in a fountain in front of the Brahmavihara Arama Buddhist Monastery

One of the buildings on the grounds of the Brahmavihara Arama Buddhist Monastery

A Lotus flower

Banjar Hot Springs in central Bali

By this time it was HOT, HOT, HOT (I must be careful what I ask for; sunshine is nice but I forgot we are at the equator), so we headed for the nearby hot springs, where one can soak and swim the entire day for a paltry 35-cent admission fee. Bali is volcanic in origin and there are two active volcanoes on the island, so it is no surprise that hot, sulfur-rich waters bubble out of the ground. Due to their mineral content, these waters are thought to have restorative, healing powers and people travel from all over the island to soak in them. The springs are diverted into giant concrete baths that are terraced down the hillside. Gravity, along with a series of drains and pipes, keeps the water moving downhill. The top bath is the warmest, with each successive level being just a bit cooler, so I alternated between hot and cool baths, standing under the stream of water falling from a pipe 15 feet above my head, letting water beat down on my neck and shoulders – pure bliss!

One of the many pools at the Banjar Hot Springs

From the hillside, looking down upon Banjar Hot Springs

This site also has a full spa, so when I’d had my fill of soaking I arranged for a traditional Balinese massage. A word about massage here. I had a traditional Vietnamese massage while I was in Hanoi. It cost $45 for an hour and a half (Sofitel Hotel prices, so more than a bit inflated from what I could have gotten locally) and the therapist ended the massage by WALKING UP MY BACK. And I mean she started at my lower calves and walked all the way up to my shoulders. It was wonderful. This Balinese massage cost $6 for an hour, however – and I have to be honest here – it hurt like crazy! It felt like she was feeding my legs into an old-fashioned wringer washing machine. Granted, she released some muscles that were pretty tense from all the walking and the stair-climbing I have been doing, but there just has to be a better way. The hot springs, by the way, also charged 35 cents for admission for the entire day and I made the most of it, leaving just in time to escape rain that started again at 4 PM.

Patio of my room at Puri Lumbuk Cottages, overlooking the exquisite grounds

On the ride back there were more surprises. A herd of goats blocked our path on one stretch of the road and, a bit further on, a farmer, complete with tall wooden staff, herded a huge flock of geese down the road. They wound back and forth along the road, snakelike, at the last moment splitting into two groups as they streamed past the car. I just wasn’t quick enough with the camera for this one! At 5 PM my guide, Wayan, pulled into this hotel. My room is a traditional Balinese cottage on stilts, with the bathroom on the first floor and the bedroom upstairs. The walls are all woven rattan, studded round with wooden shutters that I threw open in order to appreciate the lush grounds and jungle sounds. Cost of the room? $27 per night.

Traditional vegetarian dish

Now, well rested and blissfully happy, my only need is food. The vegetarian plate I ordered has just been set down in front of me and it is almost too pretty to eat. Almost! I attack it with gusto while enjoying a live performance of traditional Balinese music being played on bamboo pipes. The tune he is playing sounds strangely familiar and I suddenly realize that it is “Auld Lang Syne” – Balinese style, of course. Sometimes, it is an amazingly small world.

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Beautiful rice terraces abound across the island of Bali

Bali is soft. Bali is easy. Through the mist and rain I shoot photo after photo, convinced that if I could reach through the viewfinder of my camera to touch the terraced rice paddies they would feel like the softest down fur on a baby rabbit.

A closeup of a rice terrace

If Eskimos have over one hundred names for different kinds of ice, then Balinese surely must have hundreds of names for different shades of green. From the lime green of tender new rice shoots to the brown-green of rice ready to be harvested, every hue is represented. From the misty green of rice fields at dawn’s first light to the saturated greens at sunset, every luminosity has its moment at some point during the day.

Harvesting cloves

Bundling long, skinny stringbeans

This is a beautiful island and I have only begun to investigate it. From Ubud my guide and I traveled west through small villages and medium size towns as we made our way up and over the mountains. We stopped to watch men harvest cloves from tall trees using long poles with hooks on the end and women bundling long, skinny string beans for sale at the market. I walked through one village, snapping shots of naked children frolicking in the river. I watched, incredulous, as women walked uphill and downhill while balancing 50 pound sacks of rice on their heads, without using even one hand to steady the load.

We reached the black sand beaches of the north coast late in the afternoon and are staying at the Baruna Beach Cottages, an oceanfront hotel in the town of Lovina. While the rooms are not in the best shape, the grounds are spectacular, with a turquoise pool overlooking the narrow beach, waves that gently lap the shore, and heavenly ocean views – not to mention that the price was certainly right at $24 per night, including breakfast. Few tourists venture this far afield in Bali and we practically have the place to ourselves. In fact, I believe I was the only customer for dinner this evening so I read a book and watched the sun go down over the ocean as I enjoyed my $2 meal. I ordered a traditional Balinese dish called Gado Gado but I would rename it God, Oh! God, Oh! – it was that good. A heap of vegetables sauteed in peanut sauce were topped with a layer of the fluffiest homemade tofu I have ever tasted, then topped off with a quartered, almost-hard-boiled egg. As if this pile of food wasn’t enough it was accompanied by a huge scoop of steamed rice. It was a delicious and welcome change from the bland and tiresome Vietnamese fare I have been eating for the past two weeks.

Tomorrow we reverse directions and head east with plans to visit some major temples and natural hot springs as we wend our way along the northern coast. Hope fully the rain will end at some point. The law of averages says I am due for a sunny day sometime soon.

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I arrived in Bali last night and my guide, Wayan Sueta (pronounced Why-Ann) was at the airport to pick me up as promised. Peoples names are easy to remember because everyone here has one of four names: Wayan, Made (Mah-DAY), Nyoman and Ketut, which stands for one, two, three and four. So if you are the first born (regardless of whether you are a boy or a girl) you are named Wayan, the second born, Made, and so forth. If a family has a fifth child they just start all over again. Wayan describes it as a method of birth control.

Forty-five minutes later we pulled into the town of Ubud, the cultural and arts center of Bali, which is located in the mountains of central Bali (it is a small island). I am staying at the Pande Pembai Bungalows, in a newly refurbished room that still smells of paint and varnish. There was some consternation over the key to my room. Finally they handed me a TINY key, the kind used for small metal padlocks that you put on your luggage. They explained to my guide (and he translated) that the lock on the room was broken so they temporarily replaced it with this padlock. I was just getting settled when I realized there were two lamps and a mini refrigerator in the room but nothing was plugged in and I could only find one receptacle. So back I went to reception, up a dozen steep concrete steps in the pitch black, to get an extension cord. Fortunately I am prepared with a small flashlight – oh yes, add this to the travel list; always carry a flashlight.

Once I had light I began to settle in. I must look a wreck, I thought, pulling open the wooden panels that cover the wall mirror next to my bed. Something crawled down my arm. I shook it off and looked at the mirror but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was seeing because I had taken off my glasses. A second look with the glasses on and I jumped back with a start. Lying across the top of one of the wood panels was a dead lizard covered in insects. I gingerly picked it off with a piece of tissue and deposited it in the trash. A shower is what I need, I thought. I washed off the grit of the day’s travel and, feeling completely refreshed, reached out for a towel. No towels. None. Nowhere. Fortunately, intrepid traveler that I am, I carry a travel towel, one of those dealies that absorbs up to ten times its weight in water. Despite the few glitches, this is a really nice place, especially since the price is only $22 per night, including breakfast. I fell into bed and drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the river running below my window and the jungle animals chirping and trilling.

View over the valley from the pation of my room at the Pande Pembai Hotel

Monkeys from the nearby Saced Monkey Forest roam the streets of town

I awoke early this morning and threw open the drapes to a spectacular view of the river valley and rice paddies beyond. Hordes of school children, dressed in black shorts with red and navy polo tops, were winding their way to school on the blacktop below. The sounds of their laughter mingled with jungle sounds, many of which I could not identify, for example a sharp barking sound. Turns out that was the sound of monkeys. Yes, monkeys! This hotel is located on Monkey Forest Road, just about 300 feet from the entrance to Monkey Forest, which is a protected park where thousands of monkeys live. Not confined by such artificial boundaries, however, they roam all over town, fighting over the food left out on the sidewalk for them every morning by the locals. In fact, right this moment, there is a big one sitting in the tree next to my table in the restaurant. He is about three feet tall, not counting his long tail, with a silver grey back and a white breast. His white face is ringed by dark grey fur and grizzled whiskers poke out from his chin. His deep-set black eyes are feigning indifference but I know that he is calculating the chances of stealing my fruit. “Don’t even THINK about it, buddy,” I say. As if understanding, he scampers away through the treetops to join the rest of the troupe.

The plan for today is to head further into the center of the island, in search of the “real” Bali that most of the tourists never get to see. I like this place already. My Dad has already emailed me, warning me not to buy any property – he knows me pretty well (smile).

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I am winging my way toward Bali with a brief layover in Singapore and am having one of those days of crystal clarity that I wish came more often, but am unspeakably grateful for when they do come. I cannot remember a time ever in my life when I was more content, more joyful. When I am in this mode everything affects me so deeply. I am overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions and when they come at me like this – fast and furious – I just have to get them out. The only thing I know to do is to write because it is my peace, my devotion, my solace, my great desire. So, here are some random thoughts. There is no common thread running through them. They are just rumbling through my brain.

Having eaten nothing but a simple fare of rice and vegetables for the past two weeks I splurged in the airport gift shop and bought a tin of sesame encrusted cashews. I offered some to the fellow sitting across from me and he took one, then declined more, so I voraciously devoured the rest of the tin. The next time he looked up from his studies I was licking my fingers. “Did you eat that whole thing?” he asked, incredulously. “Yep,” I replied. He laughed. You snooze, you lose.

I was nearly brought to tears by the beauty of the hair clip that held back the long black mane of the Vietnamese woman in front of me as we boarded the plane. I kid you not.

For the last two weeks I have been eating everything with chopsticks with absolutely no problem, so can someone please explain to me why I kept spilling my food all over my lap on the plane when I was using a fork???

I realize that something is beginning to shift inside of me. I am taking each day as it comes and staying in the moment. I am not dwelling on the how or why; only on the what. The how and why will work itself out.

I know that many of my old friends, new and old alike, are reading this blog on a daily basis because they have left comments. I am gratified that people who know me are following my adventures but I am really surprised about the number of people I do not know who have written to say how much they are enjoying it. Ellie has sent it to her friend Karen. Jamie has sent it to her mother. I now have almost 500 readers on a monthly basis.

Of course my biggest fan is my father. He reads each of my posts three or four times and has actually saved all my photos and posts to disc. Dad really didn’t want me to go on this trip. He worried about it for months and cautioned against it. Eventually he realized I was going no matter what, so he just accepted it. Since then, he’s really gotten into the whole round-the world trip idea. He purchased a huge world map and hung it on the wall of his utility room. He plans to have the grandkids draw on it with magic marker – a sort of connect-the-dots map of my route. And he’s staying about 2 days ahead of my itinerary, doing research on my destinations and emailing me with information along the way. It’s sort of like having my own personal travel agent. It’s hard to put into words how much this means to me. You see, we three girls never had much of a relationship with my Dad when we were growing up. He was busy working two and three jobs just to make ends meet. Even after we all grew up and moved out, Mom was the one we talked to. If we called on the phone and Dad answered, he’d say hi and immediately hand the phone off to Mom. Well, Mom died a few years back but the three of us continued to call home. Dad put us on notice that he wasn’t much of a talker and we shouldn’t expect to have long phone conversations with him. That’s pretty funny, when I think about it, because I call my Dad all the time now and rarely is our conversation less than an hour long. We seem to have so much to say to one another these days. While I miss my Mom dreadfully – hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about her. I also realize that if Mom hadn’t passed I wouldn’t have this wonderful relationship with my Father. And I know, this very instant, that Mom is smiling down on me. She would have really liked the way this turned out.

I am reading the book “Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. It’s a true story about a young woman who goes through a divorce followed by a second failed relationship with a man she describes as her soul mate. She decides to spend a year traveling in search of self – four months in Italy (eating), four months at an Ashram in India (praying) and four months in Bali (loving). She could be writing my story; there are so many parallels between us. Her narrative touches me deeply every few pages, especially when she is lamenting the loss of her soul mate and a fellow resident at the Ashram has the following to say about soul mates:

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.”

I have been blessed to know my soul mate in this lifetime. The first time we met I recognized him at some deep level, as if I had known him for many lifetimes. And yes, I did confuse it for love in the beginning. But I came to understand that he was my mirror. He held it up in front of me and showed me what I needed to work on. I will always love him for this and am eternally grateful that he has been a part of my life.

I started this post by saying it was going to contain a lot of random thoughts, but in reading it over it’s clear that there is a common thread of gratitude running through it. So I’ll just close by saying thank you to the Universe, to my loving family, and to my many wonderful friends for everything I have been given.

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