The Heart of Bali


In this world there is so much beauty in the physical: clear blue waters playfully tickling white sandy shores, emerald mountains filled with ferns caressing each crevasse, exotic faces smiling with their entire beings, bright and juicy jewels of fruit hanging from their coiled vines. Physical beauty and allure is easy to find, especially when one is infatuated with newness. One type of beauty that has become more elusive as outer beauty shoves it’s way further out onto the world’s center stage is inner beauty: peace, humility, acceptance and happiness.

In Ubud, probably one of the friendliest places of all, there is so much physical beauty. There are bright green rice terraces as far as the eyes can see, intricate stone carvings telling the stories of how things began, waterfalls of clear and clean drops of life pouring down black stone, and colors of the rainbow filling plates and taste buds. However, what amazes me the most are the people, so welcoming, so happy, so willing to share, and so humble. To me, they posses true beauty.

When we first arrived, we visited a restaurant nearby Villa Areklo, where we had the great pleasure of staying. There we met the manager Agung, like the Balinese volcano. He was a young man with laughter shining in his eyes. He began to share his story, which helped us understand the complexities of Balinese culture.

The first thing he shared with us was the way children are named; one, two, three, four, and if by chance a mother bears more children than four, the fourth is once again named one. Wayan, Made, Nyoman, and Ketut are the most commonly use names. The next important part of introducing oneself, besides what number you are, is what caste you belong to. The highest class is made up of holy men and priests, the Brahmins. The second highest class is made up of warriors and nobles, the Ksatrias. Next comes the administrative and merchant caste, the Wasias. The last and largest are the Shudras. Men born into a caste are usually there for life, while a woman can marry up. Your caste determines how people will treat you in a relationship, working or otherwise, but one thing I noticed in Bali, and what our bike tour guide Mun said to us is true, “In Bali, I am you and you are me. We respect each other.” This wasn’t just some lip serviced cultural propaganda either, as I saw it in everyone, everyday.

After our meal Agung invited us to his home, in a village called Lovina on the northwest shore of Bali. He wanted us to spend Galungan, a huge Balinese traditional celebration, with him and his family. We couldn’t believe the open heart of this smiling Buddha of a man we had just met, and we came to find that nearly everyone is this way. The people here do not make you feel like you are an outsider, or merely a dollar sign. They genuinely care about you enjoying, learning, and exploring. I am you and you are me.

The next night we met Mush at the Jazz Cafe, and he told us of his place in this culture, of his hopes and dreams, his vision of the beautiful life in California, and of his hopes and dreams for B and I. We must have spent at least an hour just sharing pieces of each other on the veranda in the hot yet sweet Ubud air. This cycle continued, and I began to fall in love with this place for the beauty of its people even more than the beauty of its land.

The humble nature of the Balinese exudes from every pore of its culture. Not only from the relationships and conversations with people, but also with the Gods. On this island, there are over 20,000 temples. Every shop, no matter how tiny, will have a stone altar at which they will leave the offerings of the day. Each family compound, which has a temple that is usually much more grand than the homes in which they live, displays the unwavering belief that one must be humble before God. In America and around the world we see many examples of people preaching this message only to go home in their expensive cars to lavish homes. Not here. Words here actually mean something.

Each day the altars adorning a home, shop, or temple, will be visited by a beautiful woman carrying a tray of offerings: flowers, crackers or rice, incense, and sometimes cigarettes. They are carefully placed in a banana leaf basket and offered with a swift but steady movement of the woman’s trained hand and a splash of a special water. I was amazed at the time and effort put into this practice, even though the baskets would be trampled over or knocked down by monkeys wanting an easy meal in a matter of moments. That made no difference, it had to be done, it was a matter of respect.

After becoming a bit jaded by the face saving culture of China, I needed something like this in my life. To see that in some places in the world, people are still happy without antidepressants and mansions, to see that culture mattered and should be saved and passed down, to see that in some places in the world people respect each other, even without having to do a song and dance to earn it. Suksama, thank you, for giving me hope once again.


My Crazy Kuta Challenge!


Kuta is one of those places where lost souls go to dig themselves deeper into the rabbit hole, where Aussie and Kiwi party animals go to get their drink on, where couples go to reconnect, and where families can bring their little ones for an amazing experience. Kuta can be crazy, but it can also be calm and cool. There is something here for every soul, whether it’s searching for something or not.

For me, Kuta was a budget friendly place where B and our friends with a year and a half year old could either laze around all day, go exploring, swim in the pool, or have a fun night partying with fellow travelers and locals alike.

We arrived on January 15th, just after the throngs of tourists had kissed their blissful holiday goodbye and shuffled back to reality. It was perfect because the high season prices were now low, and we weren’t fighting our way through the crowds. It was a bit rainy, but I prefer a bit of stormy weather over storms of people.

I decided to do some things I had never done before, so here it is, my very own Kuta Challenge.

Challenge 1: Drink the Flaming Special at Legian Pub

We had the fortune of meeting a very cool Australian guy named Brad in the lobby of our hotel. Brad had been to Bali 25 times. He knew just about everything anyone would ever need to know about Kuta, he had even written a guide for people like us loaded with places to go, things to do, best bars and restaurants, and where to avoid. He was like an angel with a tan and a cool accent. Lucky for us, he took a shining to our motley crew and decided to take us around for his last few hours in Kuta.

First we went to the fun Legian Pub we drank the local specialty, which may be called the Jimmy Special or the Flaming Special. By the end of the night, we had forgotten the names of most places and people we had encountered throughout the night. First, the liquor is poured into a stemmed glass, and then the glass is warmed with a match before the liquor is set on fire. Then the guys behind the bar shout, “Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” They bang on the bar with their fists, hands and plastic ashtrays as you quickly gulp the flaming concoction through a straw. The bartender adds some milk, cooling the fire in your belly. It is actually quite tasty.

Challenge 2: Sing karaoke with a live band

If you are like me and love to pretend you are a rockstar, go to Bounty where a talented band plays some oldies but goodies as well as a few contemporary songs as you move across the stage like Steven Tyler. Our friend was the first to go, and he sang 5,000 Miles. Of course, his adorable son had to join him and he completely won over the crowd with his melodious babble. Then Brad sang a few tunes, and talked me into joining him for a couple of duets. After that, I was quite comfortable on the stage, and B had to pry me away after four or five solos. I still want to go back.

Challenge 3: Go to Synergy for some martial arts training

I will try almost anything once, so when B asked if I would join him for jiu jitsu, I hesitated, but then agreed. It couldn’t be as embarrassing as me hogging the microphone at karaoke, could it? When we arrived with our friend, I gulped. Most of the guys were twice my size and ripped, then I saw there were a few young boys and another lady, so I didn’t feel so bad. That feeling didn’t last long. The instructor proceeded with showing us various ways to choke someone out, put them in an arm bar, wizard hold, full mount, rear guard, guillotine, the list of foreign terminology went on and on. I watched intently, trying to hide the fact that I was completely lost.

B was very patient with me, and even let me put him in a choke hold. That was pretty fun. We wrestled, practiced the moves (well, I tried to practice the moves), and writhed along the padded floor, grunting all the while. Then the instructor asked us to trade partners and do some sparring. As I looked around at the sweaty guys around the room, I gulped. Luckily our friend, also new to the world of jiu jitsu, was my first partner. I awkwardly lay across his chest and couldn’t help cracking up. We must have looked like a couple of fish in a boat trying to breathe in the air. Then we had to trade partners. The only other woman and I went at it. She was shorter than me, but I am pretty sure she is a former member of the Israeli army. She squirmed out from under me and in about two seconds had me in a hold. “Wow, you are good. Have you done this before?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. “No, first time.” I was embarrassed. She pinned me down effortlessly about two more times, and then it was time to switch. A French guy, Sebastian, was my next partner. He was more experienced, but was nice enough not to laugh at me when I pathetically tried to “shrimp out” of his hold, and he even gave me a few pointers. I was too exhausted to go on much longer. By the end of the two hour class I was drenched in sweat, both my own and various other partners’, my knees were red, skinned, and bruised, and I had a sprained toe. I was not a pretty sight.

It was a painful yet adrenaline pumping experience, but I think I will stick to the tamer side of martial arts. At least now I know how to choke someone out, if the occasion ever arises.

Challenge 4: Bikram Hot Yoga

I guess I am a glutton for punishment because a couple of days after getting my butt kicked on the martial arts mat I decided to get it kicked on the yoga mat. There was a studio right next to our hotel, so we did the evening class. I had done hot yoga in Shanghai, but it did not prepare me for the sweat session I was about to experience. The room is heated by 5-6 heaters at a temperature of over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Before we stared I was already sweating bullets, and I am not usually a sweaty gal. We started with standing poses, my heart was pounding like the bass in one of Kuta’s many nightclubs, and my fingers started tingling. I started to feel lightheaded and sat down on my mat, seriously considering walking out of the class, and it had only been about ten minutes. I caught my breath and felt a bit better, and decided not to give up. The next 80 minutes went by fairly quickly, as I pushed, stretched, and breathed myself to my body’s limits. In between each vinyassa, we did the dead pose, which I liked because it helped to slow down my beating heart and gave me the strength to do another set. After we finished, my body tingled again, but this time in a good way. It really makes you realize that you can do anything you put your mind to, and right at the moment you may feel like giving up, just take a deep breath and begin again.

I will definitely be going back.