State of Grace

Time Zone Wobblies and the Fountain of Youth

 
 

I'm writing this not from a hoity toity airport business lounge or from the back of an elephant, I'm coming at you, dollins, from the capital of the State of Grace, my kitchen. Now and again I have to clutch the edge of the dining table to keep myself from careening from this time zone to Bali time zone.  It's sorta like having "sea legs", those wobbly knee sensations that wrecks your walk after two weeks afloat on a boat.  You can't quite get the hang of putting one foot in front of the other on terra firma, like I can't get the hang of 10pm when it's really 1:53pm in the afternoon tomorrow. 

(That was one of my favorite parts of the trip, crowing to everyone on Twitter and to my hubs on the phone that I was talking to them from the future, and that the future looked perfectly fine, they had nothing to worry about.)

I have to take a Benadryl and antihistimine my time traveling ass to sleep.  In the meantime, I present to you a picture of Molly, our pal Dillon and me in our regulation sarongs and sash, proper temple wear. I am about to splash my face with sacred waters from a temple spring that promised eternal youth.  I called it Botox Water, and I was wishing I had an empty gallon jug with me at that moment.  I'd have 1 ounce dropper bottles of the stuff selling on ebay for an ungodly amount of bucks right about now, rather than weaving around the house wishing it was a sunny afternoon, perfect for a large Bintang and a bit of druken Bali blogging.

Ubud, Dude.

  Molly at the door of our "standard" guest room, Ubud Bali. 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

You will forgive me, I know, Dollin Readers, but the post below was composed as we wandered around the wonderland that is Bali.  I'm adding this preface because I believe in Truth in Blogging and the truth, as it stands right now, is that I'm pounding away on one of the slick PCs in the Singapore Airlines Silver Kris Business Class Lounge while waiting for our flight to the States.  It's the 29th, two weeks since the pic to the right was taken.  Time flies when you're hanging out in paradise as well as in business class lounges where I clearly don't belong among the furrowed brow, intense white business guys.

Because I'm slightly tipsy from the free champagne, I will post this entry just to re-establish my blogging creds as well as to keep the Online Gambling spambots from creeping into my neglected corner of the Interwebs. 

More, more, more later! I've got stories for you dollins, like the elephant ride with the guide from Sumatra whose creative strings of American slang were so hysterical ("Oh really-awesome-mate-excuseme-dude!") we almost fell off 14 year old Phoebe-the-Elephant and the crazy Aussie who looked like Freddie Mercury and spoke in perfect Borat (verrry nahce!) and the smiling, friendly folks and the sad, sad sight of the poorest of the poor begging with hands outstretched and the smell of shrimp paste so foul and nasty we had to leave a restaurant the minute we walked in.  Oh, there's so much more but we'll have to wait until Mommy gets home, sobers up and gets back into the home routine.

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Behold, my lovely daughter Molly and the beautiful door to our room at the Cendana Resort and Spa, Ubud.  In the background, a king bed with a mosquito net.  Inside, the walls are covered in woven bamboo, the high ceiling enforced with bamboo timbers.  The tiled bathroom has a sunken bath, a large shower alcove and a toilet with a hose that serves as a bidet. A healthy, yummy breakfast is included.  There are two pools - a salt water infinity pool with statue gods watching as you do laps and a fresh water pool for professional lounging.  The view - a rice paddy.

All for the mid-range price of $51 a night, inclusive of taxes, fees and a breakfast buffet with fresh juices, kick ass Balinese coffee and banana pancakes.

This is Ubud, Dollin Readers.  An inland region of Bali that has become a destination for Westerners seeking the best of the culture - dances, shadow puppets, artisan shops, paintings and all the New Age goods and trappings alternative travelers could possibly want outside of Sedona, Arizona. 

I truly believe that all the alt.newagers show up here eventually along with the prerequisite enclave of Burning Man folks.  This has been verified by a lovely young woman named Adrienne of San Francisco who prefers being addressed by her Burning Man name of Aqua.  Back home, Aqua arranges corporate flights for Silicon Valley venture capital folks and assorted billionaires.  Here on Bali, Aqua hangs with friends she met from past visits to the island.  She also served as my guardian angel standing next to me at a market vendor selling white lace nightgowns that were so utterly gorgeous, I had to say it out loud:

Me:  "GORGEOUS!"

Aqua, whispering in my ear:  "Don't say 'gorgeous', they know that word and you won't be able to bargain with them."

The vendor looked worried as Aqua/Adrienne made our introductions to one another.  But, she didn't have to be so concerned.  As a rule in a third world country, I don't haggle to the point of getting a dirt cheap deal. I might get the price knocked down 10-15%, but it seems silly to get something for "dirt cheap" when I think about my American wealth compared to how the Balinese live. 

I didn't buy the lace gowns at that point because I was pleasantly distracted with Aqua's hysterical story about a dinner party she attended the night before with expats, locals and a Maori mercenary who drunkenly jumped up from the table and threatened a dinner companion with decapitation.  The next morning, Aqua told me the hungover mercenary hunted her down not with a machete but with an olive branch as he wanted to apologize profusely for his uncouth behavior.  "Man, there are some characters here!"Aqua said in an almost manic glee, grinning from ear to ear.

This is, of course, why international travel is an essential aspect of life's curriculum. You meet folks in a foreign land, they invite you to a dinner party and heads almost roll.  How full can life get?  Pretty full when you travel.

And, this is I want for my Molly - to have the world as her oyster, to be street wise and safe, maybe even carry her own machete, yet open to the new, to have contacts around the world and dinner parties with repentant soldiers of fortune.

I am now off to dinner, not with a motley crew of expats, Burning Man participants and gun runner types, but my precious kid and her fabulous friend Dillon.  This is a great guy, young 18 year old Dillon, who is as tall as I am short which is to say he is very tall.  Dillon is in Bali with two other friends of Moll's, Marshall and Nick who have gone off to some corner of the island to surf.  Dillon's on his way to California State University Chico, formerly the #1 Party School of the United States of America, but is now a great place to earn a business degree, which Dillon will pursue with the vigor he has demonstrated on this trip.  He is enthusiastic about everything, eats up information and news like Haagen Daz ice cream and punctuates his sentences with heavy doses of "DUDE".  This is my kind of good company and I'm so fond of him that I've been trying to pass him off as my adopted son.  Such a proclamation produces visible confusion in the Balinese which is, of course, the desired effect.

Blessings from Bali, dudes.

Bali Day 1 - I get ripped off, Molly gets street wise.

 

Finally, I've landed in the perfect environment for sitting down with the laptop and getting the word out to the Internets that Bali Rules as does their local brew, Bintang.  I will refer to Bintang beer many times in these posts. In fact, I shall now take on Bintang as my middle name.  Feel free to call me Binny.

The delightful young man smiling into my MacBook's PhotoBooth lens is Nick, or Nit.  Hopefully, he chose Nick as his Western name, otherwise I will have to gently inform him as to the real meaning of "nit" and its direct reference to lousy, Qwell and nitpicking. Let's just call him Nick for now, Nick of the famous Bali institution Poppies II Cottages and Restaurant, in the heart of noisy Kuta, the primary tourista area of the island. 

Poppies II has been around since the 70s, providing beds and Bintang to travelers and surfers.  Its delightful walled gardens and cottages are tucked away in an alley named after the establishment, Poppies II. This makes finding the place rather straightforward, as you can imagine.  It's also the perfect hideaway for this all important effort of Blogging on Bintang - cool, relatively quiet save for the occasional roar of a 350cc motorbike and, the best part, I can stay as long as I wish and eat and drink whatever I want for cheap.  Thus far I've consumed a delicate chicken and vegetable soup, grilled whole fish with various condiments and fresh lime slices, French pressed coffee, bottled water and a large bottle of Bintang.  This lovely luncheon and brew took a mere $12 US bucks out of my money belt.  Like I said, Bali Rules.

It is Friday, July 18th and as my dollin Nina, the brilliant writer/blogger/rad mother noted, I am sending out these missives from the future.  Crossing the International Date Line turns an ordinary schmo like me into a prophet and, given these super powers, I am pleased to inform you that the future looks absolutely fine for the rest of you in yesterday.

This is Day 3 on Bali and our last night in the craziness of Kuta, a seaside tourist trap on the southeast corner of the island.  We will be escaping the little vendors, the "touts" who assail us at every turn, groups of local guys who holler "MAMA! You want transport?" to me and "DARLING, you want hair braids?" at the kid.  After the first five minutes upon arriving in town, Molly and I have been looking at our watches, on the ground, into our handbags, everywhere but at the face of the guys wanting Mama's and Darling's attention and American dollars.  I am very proud of my kid for getting hard nosed and badass so quickly.  Some of that is in her - Molly has demonstrated great street wisdom from an early age, certainly as the alpha female at her Montessori elementary school - but it's more likely she learned from a recent example of my ineptitude.  To wit:

We emerged from the eagle eyed scrutiny of the Bali customs officers in their screening process designed to bust any Westerner stupid enough to stash porn or pot in their luggage. The posters warning offenders that the death penalty would be applied to anyone attempting to infect this island with such contraband were disconcerting.  The death penalty? That's a little extreme for possessing a racy DVD and a pot brownie.   Needless to say, I was deep in thought considering the overly severe implications of such crimes and then thought once again about that disturbing Claire Danes movie as I pulled my rollaway off the luggage carousel.  While in that daze, two men wearing seemingly official uniforms whisked our luggage from our hands and took us over to another set of customs officials where our passports were reviewed one final time.  The porters wheeled our bags over to a money changer booth where they insisted we use their services, and it was then I realized we were being scammed.  In order to get our bags back they asked for a tip.  Actually, one of them made the international sign for money - rubbing his fingers against his thumb, as in "pay up, lady!" - and informed us with sinister smiles that "ten dollahs" would do.  I handed them two US dollars each, snatched away our bags, glared at them as they grinned back and began muttering like a maniac to Molly and anyone within earshot - "TWO MINUTES IN THE COUNTRY AND I GOT FUCKING RIPPED OFF!" 

And, I'm still muttering those very words.

I got over myself because the ride into town was entertaining, once we realized we were not going to die in a fiery crash.

On our way into Kuta. Behind the wheel, Agus of our hotel, the Bali Sorgawi, weaves in and out of traffic. This was the most peaceful moment of the drive, a second later, at least 20 mopeds crowded in front and around us. Boston drivers, take note - you think you're badass drivers? I know Beantown traffic and it scares the crap out of me every time I've visited. But, compared to this chaos, you're all amateurs.

Welcome to the Hotel Bali Sorgawi.  Not the best of lodgings, but a great price at $30 for an air conditioned room with hot water (at a premium in the cheapo hotels), a pool and breakfast.

Our room, cool and comfy with balcony and a TV that doesn't work.  I was disappointed that I couldn't watch Indonesian TV or, at least, CNN Asia.  But I got over that fast.

Battery's about to run out.  Will return after a stroll on the beach. 

Namaste, dollins!

Suddenly - BALI!

Grooving on a Jakarta heavy metal band.
Originally uploaded by GraceD

Kind and most excellent Dollin Readers, this image may seem banal and run of the mill, just another middle aged woman doing a thumbs up in a non-descript room. However, let me assure you, I'm hardly bored in this setting - a 7/11-esque mini-mart with blazing fast wifi, lattes and baked goods and Indonesian death metal blaring on this country's version of MTV. Oh, and I'm looking straight at Kuta beach. On the island of Bali.

I know, I'm doing it again: I post something on nothing (like eye tacos) and then I'm posting from a tropical paradise as I've done in past entries about Hawaii and the like. A lot has happened in between the time I took the pic of the menu board in a Santa Barbara taqueria, but those events and revelations will have to be on hold for a bit until I find a place to sit for a while. In the meantime, my biokid Molly and I are running around the island of Bali and we couldn't be happier.

Earlier this year, Moll asked if we could go on a mom and daughter trip together, maybe to HawaII, our usual haunt. Molly noted this would be the last time she would take a trip with me as a minor. Next summer the kid will be 18 (hyperventilating noises here) and she'll probably take off for Thailand with her friends. So, clearly, we had to take a special journey, just her and me.

After looking at the costs of renting a condo, rental car, more-atrocious-than-Mainland gas prices, food costs, fun fees, Hawaii, for once, seemed undesirable. Even though the Good Hubs was going to give us miles for our flights, the overall budget for just one week would easily hit $1500-2000.

Being a cheapskate, or more gently put - resourceful - I looked into where our wretched US dollar would be worth more than dog poo. Mexico? Been there, kid doesn't want to go there (until, of course, she does her college spring breaks in Cancun. More hyperventilating noises) Eastern Europe? Nah, we want beaches. Then I thought of Thailand. Appealing, but for some reason that movie about Claire Danes ending up in a Thai prison for the rest of her life for drug related charges kept cropping up in my head. Cambodia? A strong contender, highly recommended by the super fantastic Beth Kanter, but I thought that might be too intense for Molly's first international trip.

Suddenly I remembered Bali. Bali, Indonesia, land of my daydreams of Hindu temples, scenic rice paddies, sun drenched beaches, smiling beautiful locals. Bali, where our money would go outrageously far, with perfectly lovely midrange cottages going for $30 a night and our food budget would not exceed another $30 a day, even with large bottles of Bintang beer and freshly caught grilled fish garnished with lime slices. Bali, where I could indulge in spa treatments (had a $10 hour long massage last night) and do all the yoga my heart, soul and body has been needing for some time. Bali, which rhymes with Molly, who is at this moment, is sleeping in at our hotel in Kuta after going out with three of her many surfer friends from Santa Cruz, really good kids who are having the adventure of their lives after their graduation from Moll's high school.

I'm in Bali with Molly. Oh good golly.

Unfortunately, I'll be missing BlogHer, second year in a row. This hurts me more than I can say, as I will miss my wonderful community of brilliant women writers, my peeps, my co-conspirators in crime and fun. I will have to drown my sorrows in surf lessons (highly necessary despite previous tries at the sport) and more bottles of Bintang beer.

After flying in on legendary Singapore Airlines Business Class - THANK YOU FOR THE MILES, DOLLIN HUBS!! - we arrived yesterday and will be here until the 29th. Two weeks! And, we've budgeted for $2000 which, according to my calculations, will be plenty for everything we want to do.

I must get back to the hotel room and wake up the kid. She was in good hands last night, but I did advise her and her guys to "not die", really, some of the best parenting advice I've ever dispensed.

In the meantime, I send my love to all, especially to my BlogHeristas. More later, I promise.

Care for an Eye Taco, anyone?

Care for an Eye Taco, anyone?
Originally uploaded by GraceD

There's a story behind this, dollins. But first I'm going out for sushi. Just regular fish, no fish brains, lips, tongue or IIII-EEEEE!

(Eye Tacos. Mild or hot salsa? With beans and sour cream? Think about it.)