I had decided to treat myself to a night or two in the big room with the gorgeous view of the bay, and I had no regrets upon checking in.
After catching up with LH owners Ben and Clare, I spent the rest of my daylight hours trying in vain to convince any of the PB dive shops to let me do a night dive in the Blue Lagoon without also paying to do a day dive. When that failed, I buried my sorrows in a heaping plate of gado gado at Grand Cafe. As I ate, the sky suddenly turned from blue to gray and with no further warning, a gale blew through and the sky broke open. Within minutes, the streets flooded. So heavy was the downpour that I didn't even attempt to return to the Lemon House for nearly two hours. When I finally did, I had to wade through water up above my ankles and past a few intrepid souls making their way through on their motorbikes, holding umbrellas over their heads as they drove.
By the time I got back to the Lemon, I didn't feel like leaving again, so I spent the night in.
For my last day of my third and final stop in Padang Bai, I decided that, since I couldn't dive the Blue Lagoon, I would snorkel there instead. I rented a mask and snorkel and joined half a dozen other fish-gazers at the mouth of the inlet.
I couldn't believe the number of fish so close to the surface. I had swum in these waters earlier in the month when I'd been unable to submerge my head because of an ear infection, and I'd had no inkling of the bustling life below. Trumpet fish, emperor fish, crazy-long needle fish, and many, like some beautiful yellow, gray, blue-edged fish, that I couldn't identify swam all around me. To get closer, I free-dived as best I could and soon began to regret passing up the day dive. Ah, well. Yet another reason to return to Bali.
As I cut back across town, I noticed a crowd gathering outside of the main temple.
Bedecked in traditional finery, mothers carried offering-laden baskets on their heads and pulled their children along by the hand, while young men zoomed up on their motos, their sweethearts sitting side-saddle behind them. I decided to return later to find out the cause of the hubbub.
I'd heard great things about the sunset view over Black Sand Beach, so as the hour approached, I made my way in that direction. I ended up getting lost and finding an ideal lookout point atop an abandoned construction site.
Then I surfed down the gravelly hillside and walked along the charcoal-colored shore before cutting back through the jungle, more ruggedly beautiful than ever against the orange-colored sky.
I walked back to town, still unsure of my way but glad of what light remained.
When finally I reached the Lemon House, I found that nearly everyone had gone to the ceremony to which I had seen so many locals processing earlier that evening. I grabbed my sarong and made to join them. Sadly, I arrived too late to enter the temple and so stood at the entrance, watching and listening to the chanting of the crowd.
Some of the townspeople still milled about outside, so I had plenty to see there.
One little boy-- all of 3 or 4 years-old-- flirted shamelessly with every Western girl he saw, batting his long black eyelashes, peeking out from behind his mother's skirts, and periodically running up to touch one of us, laugh, and run away.
As the ceremony came to a close, I returned to the guesthouse to write for a while on the balcony, from where I watched the streets below fill with the smoke churned out several times a week to kill the mosquitos.
In the morning, I attempted to visit what I thought was a nearby palace with another hostel guest named Paul. We had met the previous day and had one of those conversations, involving extremely personal details, that you only have with other travelers who you know you won't see again. This happens often, believe me. Sadly, just before we set off, several locals told us that we had grossly underestimated the time it would take to visit the sight and that I would never make my bus, so I abandoned the plan, sent Paul off on his own, and returned to the Lemon.
As I walked about the guesthouse gathering my things, I couldn't believe that a month had passed since I had spent my first night in Asia there. I thought of how, on my first visit, I'd struggled to remember to remove my shoes when entering most buildings, when it now seemed like second nature. I'd long since grown accustomed to sharing my personal space with geckos-- like the ones that dominated the walls of the Lemon-- and falling asleep to their bizarre mating calls. I'd come to appreciate the simplicity of the bathrooms and the practicality of the all-tile floors. So many little things.
The Lemon House had made for a perfect starting point in Asia, as well as a home base between my other travels around Bali. I couldn't imagine better hosts than Ben, Claire, and Ketut, and as I gave my leave, I promised to return one day.
By midday, I'd hopped a bus to Sanur, Feast ice cream bar in hand, and by 3pm, Helmi-- my lovely Indonesian friend, whom I'd met in Ubud-- had picked me up, dropped my bags at her workplace, and left me to do some shopping while she finished her duties for the day. I found a pair of $1.50 flip-flops to replace the ones that been stolen from me, but little else fit me as I discovered that a US small is an Indonesian large. Until you reach the middle-aged fashion section, then that changes markedly.
I'd told Helmi we could fetch my things after she'd picked me up again, since I thought my 15 kilo bag far too heavy for her petite, 4-foot-11, probably 98-pound frame, but as she drove up, there it sat behind her, dwarfing her and making her look like a tiny turtle with a massive shell.
She took me to see the view of the local beach, and then we went to her apartment to get dressed for the dinner she'd organized at a Jimbaran Beach restaurant for the birthday of our French friend William. I rode on the back of her bike for the 45-minute drive, during which we drove alongside Eka and their new Dutch friend Arno. The girls drove with skill and speed and almost too much casualness for my comfort, unused to it as I was. As we weaved in and out of traffic, the girls darting in front of one another and shouting conversation in between, I squeezed Helmi's waist and prayed for the safety of the sumptuous-looking, specially-ordered chocolate mousse cake balanced on my lap.I needn't have worried, of course, and we arrived without a scratch.
The old Ubud gang was back together again, and I soon realized that WIlliam and Sylvain had had no idea that I would be there, as Helmi had decided to make it a surprise. She'd plotted out an amazing beachside dinner of fresh fish, veggies, and all manner of Balinese side dishes.
We ate right on the beach with the sand beneath our feet, and even the bad karaoke and inexplicable looping of "Cotton-Eyed Joe" on the sound system at the neighboring restaurant couldn't take away from the ambiance.
Afterward, our caravan moved on to the Green Box in Kuta.
We toasted to Will and to the happy reunion of our hybrid traveler/local crew.
After a few rounds, Helmi brought out the cake and the flowers she'd bought for the birthday boy.
Soon, the flowers had been divided up and every guy in the bar had one behind his ear.
The cake tasted every bit as good as it looked, and we shared it with the bar staff and other patrons as well, leaving nothing but a few crumbs on the plate.
Sylvain was the lone hold-out, refusing cake in favor of staying fit. Hypocrite that I am, I reacted to this by force-feeding him half of my piece, which we then nonsensically decided to burn off by comparing gymnastic and yoga moves in the street in front of the bar, much to the amusement of the smokers stationed there.
Eventually, we left the Green Box, but by then, the group had begun to splinter.
Dilla and Erika had each left for home, Sylvain had gone to meet a friend, and the rest of us made for one of the thumping night clubs nearby. Helmi and I weren't really feeling the Kuta club scene that night, so around 3am, we headed out. A heavy rain erupted just as we prepared to leave, so getting back to her apartment on her moto was quite the adventure for me, no matter how accustomed she was to riding in a downpour.
Once back at her place, Helmi and I talked almost until the sun came up before we fell asleep. In the morning, she left for work, but not before we'd said a long hug-filled goodbye, with promises of reuniting somewhere down the road.
She'd sweetly arranged for a friend of hers to take me to the airport, so I left barely an hour later. Soon I found myself looking out of the plane window marveling at how tiny Bali looks from above and yet how very much I had done and still wished to do there.
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