Happy Holidays

Christmas in Bali. Or not. It's hard to tell.

The truth is, they don't really have Christmas here, given a population that is 95 percent Hindu, and the other part Muslim. They are aware of course, at shopping centers and supermarkets, that this is a big holiday for western folks, and so they make an attempt at setting up various Christmas displays -- trees and Santas and such-like. But it's just not the same.

So the season comes along with a bit of an empty, homesick feeling. One has a persistent vague feeling of missing something, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But frankly, it's a bit like that in America now as well -- the holidays having been gutted of their original meaning by stress and money and commercialism and political correctness.

"What ever happened to Christmas," as the song goes. "It's gone and left no traces ..."

Except this this:

"Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. 10 Then the angel said to them,"Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. 11 For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

Merry Christmas, All.

Overnight in Ubud

I had a rare experience in luxury this weekend when I traveled to Ubud Green Resort to do an article for Bali Style Magazine. Green, of course, is the big catch word these days -- if it's green, it's good. Or anyway it couldn't hurt. In any case, we got our own private villa, with a second story unit for our friends, complete with swimming pool, AC in every room (good, given that the outside temperature was 42 C.), two big screen TVs, two King beds, free Balinese/Indonesian cuisine, and a general red carpet sort of treatment (in the hope that I would write a good review). Oh, and hot water. This may sound perfectly urbane to the reader, but the fact is I have no hot water at my house. Most people in my income bracket don't. What we have is a showerhead that doesn't work and a large receptacle of cold water, with which we drench outselves from a small plastic pail. And so yes, the hot water was good too. It was great. Yes, the weather is hot enough on its own, but there's just something about a nice warm shower or bath. Or jacuzzi. Two years since I've had a warm shower, folks. Imagine. I believe I took five showers during our two day stay. Oh, and one bath.

After Ubud we drove up to Bedugul, high in the central mountains, which provided one of the strangest experiences I've ever had -- a change in temperature within the space of two hours from 107 Fahrenheit to about 50 Fahrenheit. Quite jarring, that. A shock to the system. Aside from the temperature change, it was also raining -- cats and dogs. Torrents and floods of cats and dogs. And so we took shelter in a popular warung that serves only fish from the nearby lake, and we watched the rain, and listened to the cannon-like thunder, and gazed at the traffic jam on the street, and the river of rainwater beneath the traffic jam. Fun times. And really tasty grilled fish. The general plan in conclusion, after the three hour drive back to the south coast, was to revisit the place this coming summer -- at which time I will be able to write more as I see more.

Lethargy

Lying around. Lethargic. Aimless. I'm lying on the bed this morning just thinking how meaningless things seem sometimes. Thinking I ought to re-read Ecclesiates, just for the comfort of knowing the feeling is nothing new. If Solomon felt the same, I must be in good company at least. 

I'm thinking back over my life, of all the mistakes I've made, of all the stupid things I've done, of all the little roads and branches that led nowhere. I'm thinking that there has been no cohesion in any of it, no plot, no theme. In every circumstance I find myself marooned -- trying to arrive, trying to return, trying to finish and trying to start, waiting to live where I find myself this moment, as always in every phase and every time -- for all the pieces to fit, all the lines to connect, for the mold to finally set and become its own intention.

What would this look like, I wonder? Peace? Security? Rest?

I look back on so many good intentions that just turned out wrong somehow. What can they mean now if stillborn, undone, unsuccessful? How could I have been so wrong about things I felt were so right? Or what contrary fate has dogged my most ardent efforts? Or did I simply, in every time and in every effort, fail to try hard enough?

That last, yes. I suppose the fault is to be found in that last.

Kopi Luwak at Last

Finally had the opportunity to sample Kopi Luwak this weekend. At a usual price of Rp. 300.000 per cup (30+ USD) it's a coffee generally experienced only by the rich and and priviledged. But at Bali Pulina, in the uplands near Ubud, this 'exquisite' treat is offered, by the extra small cup, for only Rp. 50.000.

Kopi Luwak, for those who do not know, is made from coffee beans harvested from the droppings of the civet -- a ferret-like creature with a wolf-like face which roams the jungle thereabouts. Sound appetizing? Well, most truly special things are like that. Monkey brains, for instance. Eels. Snails -- sorry, escargot. Caviar. Beetles.

Happily (as I think, anyway), I have the tastbuds of a pauper, saving me from strange affections such as these (and saving my pocketbook as well). In short, I was unimpressed with the civet droppings. Tasted no different from Kopi Bali to me, which comes straight from the plant and not the intestine and bowel. But there's no harm in trying (I hope), and one should always expand his knowledge of such things where possible -- so that he can speak from experience rather than simple prejudice.

Chicken

A friend tells me of having read a story today in the Sanur Rag about a Balinese man having intercourse with a chicken. I should note that he killed the chicken first, though I will not hazard an opinion at this juncture on whether this renders the act in essential any better or worse, except to say that it was probably better for the chicken. But this is only a guess. Who can fathom such matters?

It's not an unheard of sort of incident in paradise, although the animal involved is usually of a more substantial nature -- a cow or a pig being considered more attractive matches. Or at least as far as practicability goes.

It must also be noted that in most documented cases these animals have been guilty of turning into beautiful young women -- at the critical moment anyway -- and thus luring their unsuspecting prey to the dishonorable act. Wouldn't you know it? It's always the woman's fault, even when she is a cow or a pig. Or a chicken.

We know that the chicken is dead (God rest its soul), but what must become of the man is not yet known. Some action will need to be taken of course -- a ceremony and a general cleansing of the village in question. It may also be necessary to eradite further chiekens if those are found suspected of similar transformations.

Hot

Okay, so this is significantly hotter than hot today. I don't know what to call it. The end of the world? Hell on earth? Basically all I can do is sit in the bedroom where the air-conditioning is and marvel at being hot anyway. Sweating profusely, so that all my hair is wet -- and I don't even have any hair. On my head, anyway.  The hair in my ears is wet. The hair in my nose is wet. I've taken off all my wet clothes and now I'm getting the bedsheets wet.  Beautiful Bali, practically paradise.

Cop Stop

So get this, folks -- I'm driving up the highway this morning, headed for Hypermart to grocery shop for the week, and along comes this policeman on a motorbike.  He points mem over to the side of the road, just on the siding by the police post.

Following orders, I take a quick inventory.  Helmet: Check.  License: Check. Registration: Check. Following road rules:  Check.

"So what's up?" I ask.

"Where are you going?"

"Hypermart."

"Left or straight."

"Straight." 

"Ohhhhh.  Why you in the left lane then?  Left lane must turn left."

"I wasn't in the left lane."

"Oh yes."

"No."

"Hmm.  Let me see license."

He takes a good long look at my license, taps it with his finger.

"Hmm, not good."

"Oh yes, good, very good. Just fine."

"Oh ya?"

"Ya."

"Where you get those sunglasses."

"Jakarta."

"I try yes?"

"Ok."

He tries on the glasses. Looks around.

"You give to me."

"No, cannot do."

"Yes, you give."

"No, was present from my wife. No can give.  She be very angry.  She is a terrible bitch."

"Oh ya!"

"Ya."

"You must simply fuck her hard then."

"Oh ya?"

"Ya."

"Okay, I'll try. But you still can't have the glasses."

"You must give."

"I no give."

And so on and so forth.  Where are you from. Wherre is your wife from.  How long have you been here. Where do you live.  How much you pay for these glasses.

Realizing at this point that he will get no money from me, nor will he get my glasses, he returns the glasses and asks if I have a second pair.

"You bring those next time, yes.  I meet you here.  You bring more glasses."

And so it goes.  Life on the island of Bali, practically paradise.