Everybody has their own definition of the word 'cool'. It's one of those cupboard-under-the-stairs words, crammed with heaps of meanings, a bit like 'nice' or 'lovely' but in a ... erm... cooler sort of way. It shows signs of overuse, the edges lost in mist but still wears designer sunglasses, is relaxed and cheerful. It enjoys, seeks, creates novelty and is a lot of fun when you decide to go with the flow in its company and to hell with all the rest.
Yes, I am back in Bali though I am writing this weeks later, or to be precise, one country, a territory and three states later, in Melbourne, Australia. Old news, then... Now that I have decided to go back to Europe in the middle of October, I don't seem to manage being holed up in one little nook long enough for anything more than a facebook post and some scribbling in my diary. It looks like I am on a headless chicken mode as my time in Australia is ticking away and wonders still keep popping up.
A short informative paragraph might be a good idea as a few months have gone since the last Bali blog, 'The land of Gods and Fire' and you might not want to read it again or at all. And who are all those people she is talking about?
East of Ubud, in the countryside, is the ecological neighbourhood of Taman Petanu. A community of westerners and Indonesians live and work there, including Petra in Casa Coolio and her three grown children Santi, Dewi and Rama. Eira is Petra's assistant. Carmen and Bobby work with her too. Ketut (the cook), Putri and Dayu are among the house staff. Apel and his wife Wiwik live down the road with their daughters Melda and Kadek Dwi. Apel is Taman Petanu's driver and a talented sculptor. Both of of them have a beautiful organic market garden.
All these people are lovely friends. Without them, my stay in Bali would have been without a soul.
As usual, I don't have much of a plan but before flying back to the crocodile infested North Australian coast, I am keen to bag some quality beach time.
To start with, I have a few errands to run and a friend to visit in Ubud, in the centre of Bali. Now, if what rocks your boat is to struggle your way through throngs of shuffling holiday-makers, along a heaving be-scootered main road, past expensive restaurants, chic boutiques and other dens of retail therapy, then, by all means, go to Ubud at the end of July. A woman carrying a baby begs in front of a health food store, the first time I ever see this in Indonesia. A headache starts pounding behind my eyes, the reddish mist of grumpiness. I am really not cool with this.
Let's not knock Ubud too hard on the head, though. The harmony is still there underneath and beyond the brash veneer of mass tourism.... I marvel at the grandeur of Ubud Royal Palace, enjoy sauntering along little alleyways hung with Tamiang (shield) and Endongan (provisions) decorations for the Galungan holiday, delight in walking the scenic Campuhan ridge walk, overlooking a tumbling stream and terraces of rice paddies. At the end of the climb, I flavour ice-creams made with coconut milk, a welcome reward for my efforts.
And, then, there is 'The Laughing Buddha', a restaurant cum cabaret....
And, then, there is 'The Laughing Buddha', a restaurant cum cabaret....
Eira, my free-spirited young friend, takes me there on her scooter.
This is Eira and I, sharing a salad at Casa Coolio.
This is Eira and I, sharing a salad at Casa Coolio.
Friday night is soul/funk/disco night. We chat over the din of conversations with a couple of Kiwis on holiday. The Indonesian band is so good we cannot but stand and dance. There is a half hippy vibe, a cocktail of music, voices, laughters and flowing summer dresses. There is the fragrance of spices and the clove-scented smoke of Indonesian cigarettes that hangs in a haze on the high ceiling. The coolest evening with the coolest friend.
Ketut (the little cook with a big smile) heard that I am planning to go to Nusa Penida, a rocky, hilly island off the Balinese south eat coast. I witness a hushed, intense and mysterious conversation between her, Putri and Dayu, the three angels of Casa Coolio. It turns out they were organising my trip. Bless them. On the island, Ketut's brother will pick me up from the jetty with his scooter and take me to a beautiful beach.
At Sanur harbour, east Bali, the international mob splashes through crashing waves to climb onboard a very full ferry. Bags and suitcases are thrown on board. We're all getting wet. The crew wears big grins. This is hilarious.
In Nusa Penida, I am whisked far from the madding crowd to Crystal bay, where I spend a day of splendid snorkelling time among the biggest coral reef dwellers I have ever seen. The waters are clear as new blown glass. It is a delight. At the far end of the beach, an 8 year old sweet smiling girl helps her grandma serve delicious curries. She is poised, polite, bright as a button, her English fantastic. Nusa Penida's little star.
I leave the beach just as two busloads of Chinese tourists are arriving en masse. Time for a sharp exit.
There can only be so many beach tales in a blog for it to remain interesting. Bear with me. North east of Bali, close to the island of Lombok, lay the Gili isles, three car-free tiny dots on the map. Carmen and Bobby, whom I had met in casa Coolio (the hub!) live and work there throughout the year.
We sail up the east coast of Bali, with Mount Agung looking deceptively peaceful in the blue haze of the morning.
First ferry stop, Gili Air. I decide against a horse drawn carriage (with little bells) and rent a bike with fat tires to manage the sandy tracks. There is a strong southwest wind that doesn't make swimming appealing so I push northwards and am blessed with a book, deckchair, parasol and coconut moment. That's what I call a holiday.
Next ferry stop, Gili Trawangan. It will take me 10 minutes to walk to the centre of the island where Carmen and Bobby are expecting me. It is so peaceful there, among the palm trees, that we could be miles away form the diving schools, restaurants, and snorkelling rentals on the waterfront.
Very kindly, they got me a good deal on the boat and have organised my accommodation in Mattowa bungalows, a one room cottage close to their own. It saved their bacon last year when, on August 2018, an earthquake hit north Lombok, shock waves spreading to the Gili islands. Their wooden hut swayed but stayed whole. The fear they felt is still with them. Not all islanders were so lucky: they lost everything and are rebuilding.
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/aug/11/lombok-earthquake-leaves-idyllic-gili-islands-facing-uncertain-future
We cycle to the coast to visit a good friend of theirs who owns a bar. There is music on Sunday night. The sun is setting amber and gold, reggae rhythms beat softly in the dusk. Am I really in Indonesia? Not Jamaica, is it? It doesn't get any cooler.
Or so I thought....
The next morning, Carmen and I enjoy breakfast on the waterfront, near her office. A lawyer, she owns a property management business for real estate on Lombok and Bobby specialises in bamboo construction.
'Walk a hundred metres or so and swim to where it's deeper. There are turtles.', Carmen instructs me with a big smile. No! Really?
In the warm water, I glide in a lazy breast stroke towards the darker blue, beyond moored wooden boats. Immediately, like a ghost, a turtle comes up out of the depths. I hold my breath, stay still and see it paddle past me, unconcerned by that spellbound human with swimming goggles.
When I left Bali for Java, Petra told me that, upon my return, I would be welcomed back like a member of the family, at casa Coolio, her house in Taman Petanu's ecological neighbourhood. It does feel like coming home, in the midst of easy and joyful friendship.
There, I do what I now realise has been a constant thread throughout my travels, as a thank you gift to the overwhelming kindness I met everywhere : I prepare food. Petra would like Ketut (the little cook with a big smile) to learn different recipes, lighter than the fried Indonesian concoctions. I wander down the road to my friends Apel and Wiwik and we collect fresh fruit and vegetable from their garden. I find pasta, parmesan and a bottle of a zingy Balinese white wine. Ketut and I spend the afternoon making Italian food... and friendship grows as we steam and boil and chop and taste and season and laugh, with barely 3 words in common. The coolest, most fun afternoon.
Every morning, when I get up, Petra is already ensconced in her office and, when I get back in the evening, she is still there, bent on her work with single-mindedness. What does she do? She juggles so many projects. The one she's been working on lately is titled AgUnity, a 'global technology platform empowering thousands of organisations working towards UN SDGs (sustainable development goals) to connect the last mile'. It is all about establishing 'effective lines of communications and an ethical, accountable means of trade'. So, it is an app that bypasses low literacy and the lack of signal in remote rural areas. It helps people to connect, to provide and get support, to share equipment and financing...
Here is the website and a video that explains it much better than words can do. This is working towards the future.
https://www.agunity.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=oTcsARxvOgg&feature=youtu.be
She is a lady who truly cares and has a tremendously imaginative mind. Here she is, in her office, with Eira and I... Bless them...
As it happens, I am in Bali during the Kuningan festival that celebrates the victory of dharma over adharma (the victory of good against evil). Like Phil says, they should export that.
I had to purchase a proper sarong and a kebaya, a lacy top, to be presentable enough for joining Wiwik and Kadek Dwi in their devotions at a succession of temples dedicated to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. I have to ride side-saddle pillion, so to speak, as the sarong is of a rather tight design. We kneel, make our offerings of food and flowers brought in finely handwoven baskets. A complicated ritual follows, involving joined hands, incense sticks, flowers, the pouring, drinking and splashing of water, the eating of rice and of sticking it on our forehead. Wiwik helps me with a smile. By the third temple, I finally get it right.
Kuningan is a big happy celebration, where families come together from all over the place.
With Apel and Wiwik, their daughters Kadek and Melda, we stop on the way to a seafood restaurant to visit Apel's uncle. This is where the ashes of Apel's ancestors are kept in shrines. I am welcome like a relative, fussed over with food, drink, laughter and kindness and chat in English with the youngsters who tell me about their studies, their dreams, their plans. I am touched by their joyful openness, their genuine keenness to make a difference and a life for themselves.
In the evening, Apel and Wiwik insist of treating me to another meal. All dressed to the nines, we go to Ubud, in a restaurant where bamboo huts float on still ponds...
This is a day that will stay in my heart.
On my last evening in Casa Coolio, I prepare some food to share with Petra, Santi, Dewi and Rama. We chat quietly, with the sound of the gurgling river and the croaking of frogs in the background and play 'Shitface', a card game, laced with laughter. It is going to be very hard to leave, indeed.
I walk out just after sunrise, when Taman Petanu is still cloaked in mist. Apel is driving me to Green School and Green Village.
John Hardy and his wife Cynthia arrived on the island in the 1970s. They were and are still known as jewellers. Apel knows John. 'He's that mad Canadian, he tells me with a chuckle, who's been going around the area picking up plastic.'
Born creators, with an instinctive eye for harmony, they have graduated to much bigger jewellery.
I explain...
I happened onto a FB post a few weeks before, a TED talk by Elora, John and Cynthia''s daughter, depicting soaring bamboo houses that wouldn't be out of place in a science-fiction film. I researched and immediately booked a tour. They are west of Ubud, that hub of alternative vibes.
To start with, John and Cynthia founded a Steiner inspired school. It is built with natural materials, mostly bamboo. It recycles, produces its own electricity (solar and hydro-electric), has its own water from a well that is used by the school and the local community, has gardens, chickens, rabbits, a big crystal in its centre and 550 children and teenagers.
The curriculum and the methods of teaching are practical and innovative. Observing, experimenting, creating...
It is a magnificent place, situated at the edge of one of those central Bali deep gorges, where a tumbling river is spanned by the most stunning bamboo footbridge I ever saw. It is touched by Balinese grace and committed to strong ideals. It is the future.
Cynthia, who leads the tour, tells us a story.
Two teenage students had decided to go on a hunger strike against single use plastic. I don't blame them. The idea certainly crossed my mind after seeing the steady littering by the side of the road and on beaches. The thing is, it is illegal in Indonesia to go on a hunger strike and the secret police came. The students, westerners, were afraid they would be forced to leave Indonesia. Finally, they managed to see the governor of Bali who promised the end of single use plastic on the island in 5 years. A wonderful victory. Why in 5 years, though? Why not now?
It is always a beautiful things to see old hippies realising their dream. And they have. And it works. And why wouldn't it?
It is the coolest of cool.
This being said, the teaching is in English and most students are from a western background. The fees are very high, even for westerners and of Himalayan proportions for the local community... John and Cynthia are trying to remedy this by offering free scholarships to local children, for up to 20% of the total number of students, ideally.
After an hour spent visiting the bamboo workshop, being shown the different types used for different building purposes and the ins and outs of treating with borax, drying, cutting, laminating, I walk among the most wonderful, stunning, organic, open, imaginative houses I have ever seen. No right angle anywhere... they sprout like forests, as if Gaudi had been beamed up in Bali and transformed the seven dwarves cottage into cathedrals.
This type of building is much better suited to withstand earthquakes so, much safer in that respect, but it burns like tinder.
When the houses are not occupied, they are on airbnb. The smaller one I saw goes for 100 USD a night, the bigger one for 1000 USD a night. Gasp...
The website below depicts what Ibuku is all about. It means 'Mother Earth' and it includes Elora Hardy's TED talk. Well worth having a look at and listening to.
https://ibuku.com
I decide to spend my last night in Bali closer to Denpasar airport and find a small homestay, a 10 minute walk from Bingin beach, on the southwest of the island. It is basic but clean and without cockroaches, always a bonus.
This coast is much busier, a haunt for holidaymakers and surfers but is breathtakingly beautiful...
I find a restaurant on top of the cliff and watch the sunset turn the horizon silver, gold, copper, platinum...
I am back in the morning for breakfast and treated to a sapphire and ruby show...
I am writing all this and I am almost in tears, touched beyond redemption.
There can only be so many beach tales in a blog for it to remain interesting. Bear with me. North east of Bali, close to the island of Lombok, lay the Gili isles, three car-free tiny dots on the map. Carmen and Bobby, whom I had met in casa Coolio (the hub!) live and work there throughout the year.
We sail up the east coast of Bali, with Mount Agung looking deceptively peaceful in the blue haze of the morning.
First ferry stop, Gili Air. I decide against a horse drawn carriage (with little bells) and rent a bike with fat tires to manage the sandy tracks. There is a strong southwest wind that doesn't make swimming appealing so I push northwards and am blessed with a book, deckchair, parasol and coconut moment. That's what I call a holiday.
Next ferry stop, Gili Trawangan. It will take me 10 minutes to walk to the centre of the island where Carmen and Bobby are expecting me. It is so peaceful there, among the palm trees, that we could be miles away form the diving schools, restaurants, and snorkelling rentals on the waterfront.
Very kindly, they got me a good deal on the boat and have organised my accommodation in Mattowa bungalows, a one room cottage close to their own. It saved their bacon last year when, on August 2018, an earthquake hit north Lombok, shock waves spreading to the Gili islands. Their wooden hut swayed but stayed whole. The fear they felt is still with them. Not all islanders were so lucky: they lost everything and are rebuilding.
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/aug/11/lombok-earthquake-leaves-idyllic-gili-islands-facing-uncertain-future
We cycle to the coast to visit a good friend of theirs who owns a bar. There is music on Sunday night. The sun is setting amber and gold, reggae rhythms beat softly in the dusk. Am I really in Indonesia? Not Jamaica, is it? It doesn't get any cooler.
Or so I thought....
The next morning, Carmen and I enjoy breakfast on the waterfront, near her office. A lawyer, she owns a property management business for real estate on Lombok and Bobby specialises in bamboo construction.
'Walk a hundred metres or so and swim to where it's deeper. There are turtles.', Carmen instructs me with a big smile. No! Really?
In the warm water, I glide in a lazy breast stroke towards the darker blue, beyond moored wooden boats. Immediately, like a ghost, a turtle comes up out of the depths. I hold my breath, stay still and see it paddle past me, unconcerned by that spellbound human with swimming goggles.
When I left Bali for Java, Petra told me that, upon my return, I would be welcomed back like a member of the family, at casa Coolio, her house in Taman Petanu's ecological neighbourhood. It does feel like coming home, in the midst of easy and joyful friendship.
There, I do what I now realise has been a constant thread throughout my travels, as a thank you gift to the overwhelming kindness I met everywhere : I prepare food. Petra would like Ketut (the little cook with a big smile) to learn different recipes, lighter than the fried Indonesian concoctions. I wander down the road to my friends Apel and Wiwik and we collect fresh fruit and vegetable from their garden. I find pasta, parmesan and a bottle of a zingy Balinese white wine. Ketut and I spend the afternoon making Italian food... and friendship grows as we steam and boil and chop and taste and season and laugh, with barely 3 words in common. The coolest, most fun afternoon.
Every morning, when I get up, Petra is already ensconced in her office and, when I get back in the evening, she is still there, bent on her work with single-mindedness. What does she do? She juggles so many projects. The one she's been working on lately is titled AgUnity, a 'global technology platform empowering thousands of organisations working towards UN SDGs (sustainable development goals) to connect the last mile'. It is all about establishing 'effective lines of communications and an ethical, accountable means of trade'. So, it is an app that bypasses low literacy and the lack of signal in remote rural areas. It helps people to connect, to provide and get support, to share equipment and financing...
Here is the website and a video that explains it much better than words can do. This is working towards the future.
https://www.agunity.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=oTcsARxvOgg&feature=youtu.be
She is a lady who truly cares and has a tremendously imaginative mind. Here she is, in her office, with Eira and I... Bless them...
As it happens, I am in Bali during the Kuningan festival that celebrates the victory of dharma over adharma (the victory of good against evil). Like Phil says, they should export that.
I had to purchase a proper sarong and a kebaya, a lacy top, to be presentable enough for joining Wiwik and Kadek Dwi in their devotions at a succession of temples dedicated to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. I have to ride side-saddle pillion, so to speak, as the sarong is of a rather tight design. We kneel, make our offerings of food and flowers brought in finely handwoven baskets. A complicated ritual follows, involving joined hands, incense sticks, flowers, the pouring, drinking and splashing of water, the eating of rice and of sticking it on our forehead. Wiwik helps me with a smile. By the third temple, I finally get it right.
Kuningan is a big happy celebration, where families come together from all over the place.
With Apel and Wiwik, their daughters Kadek and Melda, we stop on the way to a seafood restaurant to visit Apel's uncle. This is where the ashes of Apel's ancestors are kept in shrines. I am welcome like a relative, fussed over with food, drink, laughter and kindness and chat in English with the youngsters who tell me about their studies, their dreams, their plans. I am touched by their joyful openness, their genuine keenness to make a difference and a life for themselves.
In the evening, Apel and Wiwik insist of treating me to another meal. All dressed to the nines, we go to Ubud, in a restaurant where bamboo huts float on still ponds...
This is a day that will stay in my heart.
On my last evening in Casa Coolio, I prepare some food to share with Petra, Santi, Dewi and Rama. We chat quietly, with the sound of the gurgling river and the croaking of frogs in the background and play 'Shitface', a card game, laced with laughter. It is going to be very hard to leave, indeed.
I walk out just after sunrise, when Taman Petanu is still cloaked in mist. Apel is driving me to Green School and Green Village.
John Hardy and his wife Cynthia arrived on the island in the 1970s. They were and are still known as jewellers. Apel knows John. 'He's that mad Canadian, he tells me with a chuckle, who's been going around the area picking up plastic.'
Born creators, with an instinctive eye for harmony, they have graduated to much bigger jewellery.
I explain...
I happened onto a FB post a few weeks before, a TED talk by Elora, John and Cynthia''s daughter, depicting soaring bamboo houses that wouldn't be out of place in a science-fiction film. I researched and immediately booked a tour. They are west of Ubud, that hub of alternative vibes.
To start with, John and Cynthia founded a Steiner inspired school. It is built with natural materials, mostly bamboo. It recycles, produces its own electricity (solar and hydro-electric), has its own water from a well that is used by the school and the local community, has gardens, chickens, rabbits, a big crystal in its centre and 550 children and teenagers.
The curriculum and the methods of teaching are practical and innovative. Observing, experimenting, creating...
It is a magnificent place, situated at the edge of one of those central Bali deep gorges, where a tumbling river is spanned by the most stunning bamboo footbridge I ever saw. It is touched by Balinese grace and committed to strong ideals. It is the future.
Cynthia, who leads the tour, tells us a story.
Two teenage students had decided to go on a hunger strike against single use plastic. I don't blame them. The idea certainly crossed my mind after seeing the steady littering by the side of the road and on beaches. The thing is, it is illegal in Indonesia to go on a hunger strike and the secret police came. The students, westerners, were afraid they would be forced to leave Indonesia. Finally, they managed to see the governor of Bali who promised the end of single use plastic on the island in 5 years. A wonderful victory. Why in 5 years, though? Why not now?
It is always a beautiful things to see old hippies realising their dream. And they have. And it works. And why wouldn't it?
It is the coolest of cool.
This being said, the teaching is in English and most students are from a western background. The fees are very high, even for westerners and of Himalayan proportions for the local community... John and Cynthia are trying to remedy this by offering free scholarships to local children, for up to 20% of the total number of students, ideally.
After an hour spent visiting the bamboo workshop, being shown the different types used for different building purposes and the ins and outs of treating with borax, drying, cutting, laminating, I walk among the most wonderful, stunning, organic, open, imaginative houses I have ever seen. No right angle anywhere... they sprout like forests, as if Gaudi had been beamed up in Bali and transformed the seven dwarves cottage into cathedrals.
This type of building is much better suited to withstand earthquakes so, much safer in that respect, but it burns like tinder.
When the houses are not occupied, they are on airbnb. The smaller one I saw goes for 100 USD a night, the bigger one for 1000 USD a night. Gasp...
The website below depicts what Ibuku is all about. It means 'Mother Earth' and it includes Elora Hardy's TED talk. Well worth having a look at and listening to.
https://ibuku.com
I decide to spend my last night in Bali closer to Denpasar airport and find a small homestay, a 10 minute walk from Bingin beach, on the southwest of the island. It is basic but clean and without cockroaches, always a bonus.
This coast is much busier, a haunt for holidaymakers and surfers but is breathtakingly beautiful...
I find a restaurant on top of the cliff and watch the sunset turn the horizon silver, gold, copper, platinum...
I am back in the morning for breakfast and treated to a sapphire and ruby show...
I am writing all this and I am almost in tears, touched beyond redemption.
