Today I saw yet another side to Bali. Joining Candace on motorbikes, we took the back roads to Ubud to attend the free day at the Bali Spirit Festival. Both listening to our respective iPods, I followed her 3 rights, a left-right-left-right and then I lost count of the turns. We rode through small villages, past rice fields, and kilometers of narrow, pot-hole riddled two-lane road. I saw tons of bamboo-based decorations for un-countable temples. Houses here are tall walled affairs that keep the contents totally private, their front doors usually across a short bridge over an irrigation canal lining the narrow roads. This creates a maze of dodging arching bamboo strips perched on the motorbikes of the believers while scooting around trucks and cars, all while avoiding the ever-present 2-3 foot drop of irrigation canal on both sides. The temples here are dark, geometric, and contain more mystery than purpose to me at this point. Occasionally I passed a statue of some crazy-eyed creature with exaggerated limbs, naked chested and featuring long swaths of black hair on top of their towering 5 meter height. The images of gods here would give anyone nightmares. Multiple limbs, bugged out eyes, huge teeth, and that black rug.
Off in the distance I could make out the base of a cloud-covered mountain as we wound through back roads and straight into a cop-trap. Everyone was waved over, checked, and issued a fine that was typically collected and not reported. We're talking bribes. I missed my bribe window and forked over $25 for not having an international driver's license (guess what I'm doing tomorrow in between surfing attempts....). The lead polisi showed some romantic interest which Candace deftly negated in her perfect Indonesian. She also warned two boys on their parent's motorbike and without helmets what they were driving towards and they immediately went home instead of towards the shake-down. Smart kids.
We arrived shortly after noon to the tail end of a five-day yoga festival, matless and me in jean shorts and a tank top. After scarfing an organic, raw lunch, we ended up in the Traditional Indian Yoga class with a laughter yoga ending. Not having a mat means you don't have a defined real estate and I was closed in on both sides until I had to give up on the space. The Indian yoga instructor yelled out instructions on peace and relaxation, the proper methods, and I pulled out my camera and took a walk.
ghost
yoga hippy
flowers
flowers
yoga-off
chandelier
yoga
The attendees had paid a steep price for the whole week, something in the neighborhood of $800. The grounds were lovely, the pool full of shrieking children, and their parents were sweating it out with well-muscled and nutrient-rich bodies contorted while various instructors told them how they'd only just forgotten their natural state and were returning to it now. It sounded lovely and by the estactic expressions with only minimal clouds of discomfort passing through, the folks there seemed very happy. I rejoined the class after watching the kids parkour workshop, the Bali circus for kids of all ages, and getting some seriously un-peaceful glares when I wandered into the massage building.
The instructor never turned down the volume or intensity of his instruction and I was somewhat relieved when the class was over. Candace and I walked right into the Yoga for Surfers class and I experienced a kind of yoga that no ancient script ever came close to describing. We jumped around as though we were expert surfers on a ridiculous sea, acted like fish, slapped asses, gave hi-fives, and finished the class as puddles of sweat (just ocean water, my friends), our hands forming the hang-ten and shouting. All in all, a really good workout.
Fan of Yoga
RELAX!
Pool
statue
Baby Parkour
Building
Plant
Pretty Potty Portal
Getting back on the motorbikes, it started to rain. This kind of rain is tropics rain - hard, fast, and mid-wheel on the Scoopie at times. The good news was that it came down so hard, I couldn't see the fast rivers forming over the road and didn't do any kind of dangerous avoidance techniques. As night fell, I pulled up beside Candace and shivered. The passing cars had shot waves at me as high as my neck and I was soaked through and through. For my first motorbike ride in the rain, it was a real doozy. The rain stopped eventually and we split at my door to take hot showers and relax. Apparently jumping around like frogs in class, slapping butts that hurt your hand they're so tight (it was part of the class, I swear), and following that up with a blind motorbike ride through a rainstorm really takes it out of a 36-year-old.
River of flowers
staircase
lovely tattoo
Quote
blisters - sweat
Next Morning...
The ocean this morning was strong, the waves hard and fast and three feet tall. I was hit in the head with my board twice, one time tossed until I didn't know up from down and surfaced under it. I feel every ache and pain from yesterday and today. Knees, back, bruises blossoming on my hips from the board knocking them, and my left arm is screaming at me whenever I try to use it. That limb hurts like crazy when I try to climb on the board or pick up my coffee cup, or turn over the eggs I just ate for breakfast.
I wrapped it up in a frozen dishtowel for a while, took some combo ibuprophen/tylenols, and even took an eighth of a vicoden. I feel sleep hunting me now as I try to get on the PETA intranet and turn in the work I've just completed. I don't know how, but the internet has gotten progressively worse from the first two days I used it until I can't load email, facebook, work, nothing. This is a bad thing for me. Very bad.
All in all, good day on the water though. I wasn't ready to get out when Artha waved me in. Just one more, that sweet ride, like the wave three attempts ago. He understands and sends me out to find it and I do. Crazy yoga, a sudden spike in exercise, and my body is letting me know how out of shape I've let it become. Today is the learning curve climb and doubtlessly tomorrow will be worse. Tomorrow will be a good day to loosen up in the water.
My burn is peeling, leaving behind perfectly pink new skin that will burn again. I'm reminded of cross fit, the first few months of gut-wrenching intensity, sweating, and pushing my body to this kind of point where all I can do is heal, sleep, and try again. In the ocean, I'm running back out after a ride, eager to try again. I hope my arm doesn't fail me now and wonder if there's a point I can't push it beyond. I hope not, these waves aren't going to be smaller and I'm not giving up when my lessons now are just Artha standing on shore giving me thumbs up as I do the rest.
morning coffee surprise
And yet one more morning...
My arm is still sore, but the swelling has gone down. I am giving it until late afternoon and then I want to be in the water. The internet is out for all users of 3G USB sticks and that means I'm chasing wifi hotspots to work and to communicate. The day yesterday was largely an exercise in frustration. I spent four hours in the heat of the afternoon trying to activate a Citibank account that cannot be activated from Indonesia (just walk into your local branch in the US, right?) and then searching for the place to get an international driver's license to no avail. Normally I am charged by this kind of hunt, the exploration of streets, daily life, scenes from this new world, but yesterday was ruled by discomfort and lethargy.
The evening was spent at a wifi cafe beside Aaron, suffering the same internet fate, and eating Gado Gado (stirfried vegetables with peanut sauce and topped with a boiled egg). As my work day started, I moved around, fielded calls to my travel insurance company (still translating the Thai police report from December), Aaron in Bangkok, Randy and the twins, etc. Bangkok Aaron gave me solid advice on surfing here - namely the practical nature of attempting to put surf board hooks on ones motorbike, ride around with the board mounted inches from your leg and effectively blocking that side from movement, as well as the security of the board. Adding in the steep cost of replacing a snapped board and I'm rethinking my surf board rental strategy.
Tomorrow is a huge festival here, and I might be joining my surf instructor and friends for an adventure whose description has been in stilted English and I'm relying on my love of the mysterious to get amped up. My restlessness has narrowed as well, every time I note the feeling and it's corresponding pounding in my chest, it now sounds like the waves and I can't wait to get back into the water.