South via the Catur/Sangiyang Pass - May 28th

This was from a while ago and lost in the archives. But as I'm now out of Bali and trying to get caught up again I'm realizing that there are some days missing. So after going North via Batur we stayed in Lovina, a lovely, quiet and forgettable town on the coast that specializes in diving. We didn't dive, we slept and went South via a different mountain pass.

Simian and sapiens crossing the road.

Parenting...

Who wants to bring a monkey to a temple anyway? This is at the entrance to Pura Ulun Danu Bratan. It was heavily touristed at the time and, well, it was nice but... it was nice.

I love trees, really love them. These roots are more than ten feet across.

Notice the swastika on the right. It is a Hindu, Buddhist and Jainist symbol used on objects and people as a mark of good luck in the East. In the West it is the mark of the Nazis, as everyone should know.

Further along the road home we came across a waterfall.

Publish Post

The Map

This is the map of Bali we used for our trips. We also carried a compass which was affixed to our bike by carabiner to the side mirror. There are two things of note I want to share. One, on showing a map to a local in a remote location and gesturing to the ground and then to the map while saying, "here" in Indonesian you will more often than not get a nod, a smile, and a yes, but no information as to your actual location on the map. The first time this occurred I was a bit stumped, the second and following times I realized that, more likely than not, they have never looked at a map with any interest or possible use and so may not know where their village lays upon it. That is to say that a map is not much use. The island is small, asking directions is simple enough if you speak the language and knowing ones location on a piece of paper probably has limited value.

I remember reading once that some Native American tribes had maps which were of lines, at certain distances upon the line another line would branch out either left or right and this may continue depending upon the path. The maps in this way resembled a two-dimensional drawing of a tree trunk and its branches. The length of the line represented the distance to travel upon the path, while the side branched from represented which way to go once the distance was reached. At the same time that European cartographers would enlist the help of Native guides to furnish their own maps they would dismiss these "primitive" maps as being useless. Yet without the knowledge contained in such maps their own desire to interpret the world would have failed or taken much longer to complete. It is important to remember that the only true map of the world is the world itself, all else is nothing but representations which vary according to use.

Second; the map was missing many roads. Not just the small ones that you would expect either. Major roads which had been built as much as five years ago were missing. This is where the compass came in. When you were "off the map" and at night or at noon, times when you couldn't take a bearing by the sun, I would unclip the compass from the side mirror, holding it away from the interference of the bike and determine which way was home. Then we would just drive till we found something we knew. It was probably one of the most useful purchases we made.

Tattered and torn, there she is.

Canang Sari

Three times a day the Balinese place offerings, Canang Sari, in various places around their homes, stores and properties. The offering is a giving back and is embraced as both a duty and an honor. Often they will be shortly consumed by dogs or birds after placement. For the Balinese whose Hindu beliefs are mixed with animism the consuming of the offerings which contain flowers, crackers, cookies and sometimes cigarets by the animals is fair. It is a giving to the spirits that walk among them, the desire being one of harmony and balance. They are also in many ways indicative of the artistic nature of many Balinese and stand as beautiful arrangements in their own right.

So three a day means there's a lot that need to be made. Previously I showed photos of flower markets in Denpasar, they exist elsewhere. Below you can see the three women of the household preparing offerings for the weeks ahead. On the left is Mama. In the Balinese culture people are called by their position in the family regardless if its your family or not. I was called "Father" by a child no more than 5 years of age. So this, is Mama. She welcomed us home each time we went on a journey, performed a ritual Hindu cleansing of our possessions and ourselves before we climbed Gunung Agung, and cried when we left.

The placement of an offering outside a store. You can step on them if you're not welcome, and while I tried my best not to, you wouldn't be held at fault for doing so.

This isn't an offering but more an example of the artistic sensibility of the Balinese. It hangs from the end of a tapering bamboo pole and is used to decorate temples, homes, stores, and many other places and processions.

Some more examples of the ubiquitousness of the Canang Sari.

Kite and play

Almost always when you lookup here there are kites, all shapes and sizes and some monstrously huge you'd think they'd rival a Boeing 747. Literally visible and still looking large from 10 or more kilometers away. Kites aren't just for kids either, I've seen kites being driven down the road on top of dump-trucks, others being carried by 20 0r more men and taking up an entire lane of traffic while no one seems to mind. The kite is made from bamboo, dried and split into thin, flexible strands, they are tied together to form the frame. The skeleton is then skinned in plastic or thin fabric, probably nylon, depending on size.

Here are some kids getting a kite off the ground. The trade-winds here are pretty consistant, so once the kite is high enough to escape the turbulent effect of the landscape they stay serenely suspended as though fixed in place with a thumb tack.

Like everywhere, there's a little one that just wants to be a part of it...

...or in artist speak, here I'm capturing the enduring challenge of growing up, the young, emulating the slightly older, the slightly older fighting to take ownership over the forces of nature, and nature, the passively active canvas upon which we write our desires and test our strengths. Scenes such as this show our common humanity and the common desire to actualize our will.

Or its just some kids that want to get a kite up and have some fun. Regardless, I was rooting for them.

It takes two.

Three lasting traditions in Bali, the bicycle, the kite, and rice fields.

Transport?

Ubiquitous to Bali is the question, "transport?". Often one word, often accompanied by the miming of the act of driving a car or scooter. These two guys decided on a different medium.

On the reverse.

How could you resist?

If...

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

By Rudyard Kipling

Gunung Agung - June 26th

Gunung Agung is the highest and most sacred of Bali's mountains. Prior to the 1963 eruption, which left over a thousand dead, it stood over 3100 meters tall. The summit is currently estimated to be slightly over 2900 meters. The climb begins at Pura Agung where offerings and payers are given before the ascent. I say ascent as this shouldn't be described as a hike. We didn't use climbing picks, ropes or harnesses, but if we were in North America we probably would have been provided the last two. In order to reach the summit by sunrise we began the climb around midnight. Six hours up and three down with some sandwiches and coffe at the top. Sean, a friend from home who came to Bali to visit and surf, Marco from Milano who wouldn't shut up, Jacqueline, and I began our climb. The beginning was just steps but enough of them to get a burn started in your legs and made you question how you're going to feel after six hours not to mention the thinning air.

While planning the trip back at the homestay, Marco from Milano, asked if he could join us to which we made the error in judgement of agreeing. I made the error, to be honest, but it felt rude saying no and it made the trip cheaper. In any case there were four of us and three guides. The local guide, Made, who does the climb 3-4 times a week. Punk, who is a cycling guide from the outfit we arranged the trip with, and another, who we didn't spend much time with as he stayed with Marco, the slowest of the group.

The first half of the climb was without incident or worry. Strenuous - yes, unnerving - no. Accompanying our trip was the ever present howl of wind above us, moving the trees and making known how high and exposed the mountain was. After a bit, by looking back, you could begin to see the lights of Southern Bali below. Grouped together with nothing but blackness in between, not even roads as you'd expect at home, the towns looked like islands of light surrounded by endless sea. While still physically taxing we were making jokes and learning much from Punk, at 21 years of age, he was soon to be married and was probably used to explaining the culture of Bali to travellers such as ourselves.

Like I said, that was the easy part. Once the halfway point was reached, just shy of the tree line, we stopped for a snack and to put some more layers on. I had only a t-shirt and thin cotton sweater for warmth. I did not come to the tropics expecting to be in 5 degree weather on top of a mountain. The first part of the climb, due to the trees and effort, was such that you didn't need any layers. The second part, exposed on the lava flows from the 1963 eruption, wind blowing at 50 knots or more and now, ascending through the clouds, meant that despite the exertion I was cold. This was where the climb became more vertical, the ground became a companion infront of you rather than beneath you and the wind, a foul tempered trickster, was always attempting to pull you from the rock all the while howling incessantly about you. At one point the guide took us the wrong way. To correct the mistake and we didn't know a mistake had been made till after, we had to scale 10 feet of vertical rockface, not almost vertical but actually vertical. I've done some rock climbing and to be on a vertical face, 10 feet up without rope is not that big of a deal. Yet, when the "ground" beneath the 10 feet of vert is a 50-60 degree slope of ragged lava flow and there are no safety measures, nor even a radio to call for help, there is a real danger there. When we found the correct way again Punk exclaimed, while laying spread eagled on the rock, that he was "so scared".

By 5am we were just shy of the summit but still had an hour till sunrise. Made heard some voices coming from a crevasse and found his brother with a hiker from Germany hiding from the cold and crouched around a small fire. We sat down to join them and wait for the light to continue. The first photo was of this. Sean in the foreground. Jacqueline and the German waiting out the cold and the guides stoically sitting behind, closer to the fire than us. We were promised warm clothes but operations in Bali are fly-by-night affairs and what you read is not what you necessarily get.

Once you reached the top you realize that it is the most dangerous place on the mountain. You have an absolutely vertical drop of 200 feet or more into the crater on one side. On the other there's 20 feet of steeply sloping rock between you and what looks like the end of the earth.

Below is our guide, Made, praying on the edge of the crater.

The opposing side of the crater.

The beginning of the day, Mount Rinjani in Lombok on the horizon.

Yours truly, comfortable yet cold.

Jacqueline, happy regardless of what's beneath or what's not.

The sense of space was breath taking.

Punk on the left and Made on the right, this was after our descent.

The path up and down takes us around the walls of the temple. It was raining a bit by then.

Our offerings from the night before, including one added by Sean on his descent in penance for his cursing of god during the night.

The main entrance to the temple.

While we went down, many faithful went to the temple for a ceremony.

Leaving the homestay at 9:45 pm we didn't get down the mountain till 10:00 am the next day. All of which was completed without sleep. If you try this, take a Gravol or something and get some shuteye before you go. Also, expect to have trouble walking up or down stairs for at least 2 days after. But if you do come to Bali, are fit and not afraid of heights, you would never regret having climbed Gunung Agung.