We walked for two hours along a river passing through dense jungle and lush, gorgeous fields, broken up only by the dirt road we trod upon and occasional houses and farming structures, some modern and some in the elegant traditional style.
Around every bend lay more and more rice paddies, both flat and terraced, but all vibrantly fecund.
As we followed the main road back to town, I talked philosophy with Julian and practiced my Spanish with Claudio. About a kilometer outside of town, we stopped for lunch at a local eatery, where I sampled the nasi goreng, a fried rice dish with shrimp, crackers, egg, cucumbers, onions and chili and soy sauces. Very tasty.
After we'd returned to town, the boys rented a motorbike to head out to see some of the nearby caves, and Lauren and I returned to Agung Trisna for some pool time.
That afternoon, I finally got to take a class at Yoga Barn, which proved quite worthy of its excellent reputation. I left thoroughly stretched out and positively drenched with sweat.
On my way back, I dropped off Christian's sweater and hung out this and Joe's hotel pool, before running off for dinner with Lauren, Julian, and Claudio. We ate at a fabulously cheap and yummy little spot with green walls on Gang Arjuna, just off the main drag. Afterward, Claudio and Lauren each called it an early night, but Julian stuck with me as I tried to meet up with Christian and Joe again, to no avail, despite numerous back and forth Facebook messages. Julian and I ended up listening to some very bad cover songs over a strange combination of rice wine, peanuts, and milkshakes.
The next morning, I decided to stay a few extra days in Ubud and spend the day tackling another rice paddy walk on my own. As I was leaving, the pair of Frenchmen who had lately moved into the room beside mine invited me out for dinner. I accepted and told them I'd meet them after my walk.
The day was every bit as beautiful as the last, and I wandered aimlessly and happily. In the beginning, I passed a huge house belonging to some local dignitary and had an utterly bizarre and enjoyable exchange with the gardener, who escorted me around and helped me fend off an attack of the biggest red ants I'd ever seen.
As I continued my walk, other locals approached me freely, smiling and asking, "Where are you from?" Women with heavy baskets on their heads somehow managed to nod in my direction...
... and strangers on motorbikes waved sunnily as I stepped out of their way.
After an hour and a half in the sweltering heat, I stopped at a small stand in a ditch off the side path for a coconut water, and chatted with the lady who sold it.
She told me about the dangerous job her husband has cutting the coconuts down, and I told her about the many injuries my dad had incurred at his own job climbing trees-- for a different purpose, of course. Before I left, she showed me a shortcut back into town. I raised an eyebrow looking down the steep decline into some thick underbrush, but she smiled encouragingly, so I shrugged and made my way.
I pushed through and found the tiny footbridge across the creek below, only to find a fork in the path on the other side. I began climbing in one direction, when I heard a heavily accented, "Not that way!". I looked up and across the water to find my coconut peddler looking down on me, still smiling and pointing for me to take the other path. I waved appreciatively and set off in the right direction.
After 20 minutes of ambling slowly through the jungle landscape and futilely attempting to photograph the amazing birds and butterflies which abounded there, I emerged back into the sunlight and onto a path in the middle of more rice paddies. After another 10 minutes, I passed the only other tourist I'd seen since leaving town. We shared that knowing smile that travelers so often do as they pass one another, as she disappeared from whence I had come and I returned to town.
That evening, Lauren and I met Sylvain and WIlliam outside of Agung Trisna to go to dinner. The boys had also invited two Indonesian girls they had met in Kuta the previous week. Helmi and Eka took us to an excellent local warung and then out for drinks at a bar called Boom Boom, where we danced the night away.
The next morning, as we ate our breakfasts together outside of our rooms, I told the boys of my plan to go white water rafting on the Ayung River, and they quickly joined up. We spent some time in the pool; I showed them my favorite cheap lunch (and fried banana) spot, which Kevin had introduced me to, and we headed off for our trip.
Ahhh, rafting in Bali: we had to climb down about 400 steps to get to the river; the rafts hadn't even been inflated yet when we got there; the main guide gave our instructions in such heavily accented English that I barely understood it, and Sylvain and our Indian and Japanese fellow rafters-- all of whom spoke minimal English-- understood even less. Regardless, within a few minutes, we were in the raft and on the water.
Our guide told us which way to row but never bothered to tell us to get down on the rough spots, so Sylvain was repeatedly and comically thrown backward into my lap and William was thrown to the floor of the raft. The Japanese guy in our boat took to giddily yelling out "Boom-boom!", the signal for such a rough spot, anytime we approached one, and we all laughed hysterically when caught unawares.
We stopped three times on our journey, ostensibly to view the waterfalls or the lovely carvings on the rocks along the riverbed...
... but the real reason seemed to be to allow our guides cigarette and beer breaks. We crazy tourists didn't care to drink alcohol while rafting over rapids, but our guides were nonplussed. In fact, after our last stop, our guide handed the piloting duties off to Sylvain, who had never even been in a raft before. He did well, however, and helped take us directly under one thunderous waterfall and down over a rather tricky rapid. We got off safe and sound, having had a very fun if somewhat reckless ride.
That night, we went out for drinks with Helmi and Eka again, who brought along their friends, Dilla, Erika, and Christian. The girls goaded me into singing "Valerie" with the guitar player at Napi Orti, but I gave one of the worst performances of my life, due to a sore throat and not knowing the lyrics. They still seemed to like it though.
The next day, our Indonesian friends decided to take us out to some local spots, so we all hopped on motorbikes and drove into the countryside.
First we headed to the picturesque Love Hill, where many locals have their wedding photographs done.
But the day was sweltering, and we needed cooling off, so we jumped back on the bikes and made for a lesser known waterfall.
Dilla-- nickname of Beauty-- and Sylvain stayed at the warung perched above the falls, while the rest of us trekked down below. As other locals stared perplexed, we worked our way out to the pool below the falls, clinging to the rock faces to get there. Even standing 40 feet away, we could feel the spray.
We left our valuables behind some rocks, safe from the water, shook off half of our clothes and waded in. The water battered us and knocked us onto our butts over and over again, and we laughingly pushed our way as close in as we could.
Thoroughly drenched, refreshed, and entertained, we eventually emerged and made our way back up to our bikes.
That night, Helmi, Sylvain, William and I had a relaxed dinner at another one of Helmi's favorite local spots-- where I enjoyed a massive portion of mie goreng (fried rice) with seafood-- and called it an early night. In the morning, I bid my new friends farewell, with promises of trying to meet up in the Gilli Islands or back in Ubud in a few weeks.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Ubud, Bali, Indonesia
Ridiculously good looking Frenchman? ;D oh Lin ;))) Good blog :p
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