Bali: One Bad Day in Paradise

Bali is as awe-inspiring as ever, even though traffic and tourism have grown MUCH bigger and badder since we were last there in 1996. Still, it was not hard, we discovered, to forsake the whining motor scooters for the solace of rice fields, temples, and quiet family compounds.

It was doubly delightful for Jan and me to share our re-experience of the island with our midwife friend, Elizabeth Walters (who was visiting Bali for the first time). 

Our guide and driver, Ida Bagus Oka, did much to help us encounter the “real Bali” we sought. He had taught (math, science, music and badminton) for 30 years at the primary school (grades 1-8) on Monkey Forest Road (just across from the soccer field). Recently retired with a government pension, this Bali Brahmin decided that driving a taxi and introducing selected foreigners to his culture would be a good way to continue supporting the adopted children he has been putting through school for decades. Even as my “transport” payments helped Ida, Ida helped me meet a suling (bamboo flute) player and maker; he also found me a saxophone and took me out to jam with two excellent bands in Ubud.

On our last evenings in Bali (as detailed in a previous blog), Ida arranged for all of us to meet the musical Prince Chok Wa of Ubud. During our stay in Bali Ida also facilitated our participation in a “touching the earth” baby ceremony (See Jan's HUG blog), helped us purchase and wear proper “Balinese costumes” in order to receive blessings at several temples, took us to all “the best” performances and arts outlets, and even brought us to his home for a special “smoked chicken” dinner our last night there. 
  

Of the sixty days Jan and I spent in Bali, only one was a disappointment—and this one was doubly or triply disappointing. Fortunately for them, Jan and Elizabeth chose to opt out of the adventure that went awry for me, in order to spend a restful evening poolside with gin and tonics.  The sad story starts with Ida’s enthusiasm for my seeing only “the best” aspects of Balinese culture. The Kecak Dance is perhaps most emblematic of all the Balinese performing arts. Accompanied only by their voices and bodies, Kecak dancers dramatize the rescue of Sita by Lord Hanumon and his monkey allies. Ida said I must go to Uluwatu to see “the best” Kecak Dance, not only because this was an entirely professional company but also because of the setting. In Uluwatu the backdrop to the performance area is the setting sun, a device that figures prominently in the story itself.

The traffic to Uluwatu was particularly snarled that Sunday. Road construction was underway near the new airport. That slowed us down. So did an extra-large number of tourist buses—all headed for Uluwatu. We had not purchased tickets in advance. In retrospect, we should have. A simple dinner in the village took longer than anticipated.

We were running late. Ida had prepared and brought offerings so that we might visit the beautiful seaside temple prior to the performance. As it turned out, the main temple area was under renovation. We did meet a priest, and he did bless our offerings and us, but it was in a rather unattractive side precinct, without the famous sea view. Hurrying next to the ticket booth, we were told upon arrival that tonight’s performance had been completely sold out. No Kecak Dance for Ida and me, even though we could see and hear it from a distance. Trying to salvage a sinking situation, Ida suggested that we proceed to the cliffside sea walk to take in the setting sun.

The sunset was, indeed, magnificent, as were the temple profiles, the color on the sea, and the silhouettes of the monkeys (long-tailed macaques, Macaca fascicuiaris) that walked along the top of the wall—as their human imitators danced and chattered, in staccato syncopation, a few hundred meters away. Trying to make the most of a sad situation, I snapped a few photos of monkeys. They were great photos, some of the best I had taken on our trip. Sitting down on the wall next to Ida, I was looking through my camera to show him a shot or two. 

On my other side I felt a monkey approach, but I knew enough not to look him in the eye. After I showed Ida the photos, I glanced back to see if the monkey was still there. He was—and in the blink of an eye he deftly removed my glasses and scampered, chattering with glee, down the wall, onto the roof of a pavilion, and then up to a higher roof still.  I was pissed.

These glasses were expensive, prescription lenses (with UV coating) and fancy, titanium frames. Elizabeth had just brought me this new pair, after I had lost them in Hawaii when I was blind-sided by a wave. I shouted and ran after the feral offender. An older couple stopped me, and said they would handle things. Ida explained that they were the “monkey police.” They began rolling fruit up the roof to the monkey, trying to bribe him into giving up the stolen goods. I had to pee, so I left, doubting I would see my glasses again. As I emerged from the Gents’, the monkey policeman handed me my glasses. They were twisted and scratched, with chewed up nose pads. “Wait. I will clean them!” the man said, beaming with the glow of his success. “Give him 50,000 [$5],” Ida said. I had my glasses back, but they were useless.

I had not seen the Kecak Dance. The temple was much less than advertised. It was a long drive back to Ubud. We tried the new “bypass,” which had just opened—but because it was toll-free for just one more day, the new “quick” route was jammed. Bumper to bumper. Ida was quiet. I was quieter. When I got home, I told Jan and Elizabeth the story of my stolen glasses. Jan rolled her eyes and claimed not believe me. I think that Elizabeth did; at least, she laughed! I had to call Jonathan and David (who remembered how intimidating monkeys could be) and my friend Dave Smith (who, as Jan knows, has a trusty nose for bullshit), to tell them all the story before Jan would believe I was telling the truth. As I said, this was an expensive pair of glasses. That monkey had busted our budget. Now I can only hope that my optometrist’s office (staffed by former students Dr. Aaron Rosenstein and Tim Barco) will also believe my tale of woe, and do what they can to restore the glasses they already kindly replaced and shipped for me once on this trip!