Curves and Levels

Rue Drolet

Down the street from Centre Saint-Louis, where I take my French lessons, I found an alternative view of a seasonal Quebec phenomenon, a vine-like plant climbing a logement wall, already turned a deep autumn red. Below is the weather-stained front of Eglise St. Jean Baptiste, where folk legend Buffy Sainte-Marie is performing Thursday night.

Update: According to the poster on the church, Buffy Sainte-Marie is playing on Friday, Oct. 2. The website I linked to says the 1st. Best to make sure if you plan to attend.

The Hills Of Eastern Bali

Bali, Indonesia. April, 2003.

After a week spent in cultural Ubud, witnessing the spirited Tawur Kesanga festival and the following day of silence and inactivity marking Nyepi, the Balinese new year's day, we arranged a long-term scooter rental and set off to see the eastern part of this fabled island.

My memory of these excursions is disjointed and unreliable, so for this report I'll confine my narrative to providing brief captions for the photos. They will refer to the photo(s) directly above.

Here's that map again. The routes marked in yellow above are an approximation of two outings. The loop along the southern coast circling the eastern headlands lasted three days; one night in Candidasa, near Padang Bai and one in Amed, on the northeast coast. The run going north to the great crater lake, I did alone in one day.

Close to Candidasa, is the village of Tenganan, a walled compound where only Bali Aga (original Balinese) may live. A craftsman displays an illustrated history of ancient Bali, meticulously drawn on thin slats of bamboo, joined with string.

As you can see from the map above, the headlands of far eastern Bali are formed by an extinct volcano. The coastal road is an incredibly twisted affair with roller-coaster dips and numerous small bridges in various states of repair. At times it was necessary to dismount and walk our underpowered scooter up treacherous inclines.

Just west of the Amed coastal area is relatively flat agricultural land. These pictures and the one of the cow below were taken from the road leading back to central Bali.

The eastern slope of Mount Agung, Bali's most sacred mountain. This was the site of violent explosions in 1963 that took the lives of up to 2,000 Balinese villagers. The classically shaped volcano can also be seen in the distance from Kuta's main beach.

I took a rest stop at this mountainside tropical forest during my long uphill ride to Gunung Batur, a massive defunct crater containing a large lake and a few scattered villages.

Once over the lip of the main crater, I was treated to this surreal vista; two smaller volcanos poking up from the sparcely-grown cinder floor.

There were a few villages and settlements inside the main crater. Although Bali seems in general a prosperous, happy place, this area was marked by brutal poverty, perhaps due to the collapse of Bali's tourist trade following the 2002 Kuta bombing.

Almost half the crater's area is submerged by a large scenic lake, also named Batur, which supports a local fishing industry. Swimming is offered at some resorts near Kintamani. On October 16, 2006, Bali-based world-record ocean swimmer Monte Monfore made the first-ever-recorded swim across the holy lake as part of a UN-sponsored anti-poverty initiative.

I'm drawing a serious blank over the location and significance of the monuments pictured above. Wish I could tell you more. Next and final Southeast Asia report: Kuta Beach; coming soon.

New Year In Ubud

Procession ceremony prior to 'Nyepi', or Balinese New Year.

Bali, Indonesia. March/April 2003.

Bali's airport is well away from the island's only city, Denpasar - located next to the water on the narrow isthmus connecting the mainland with Jimbaran and Nusa Dua. Thus the cloudless morning air was fresh and bright as our plane skimmed low over the glistening ocean. Parallel lines of white surf appeared below us, rolling relentlessly landward and visible in foamy detail during the final approach. We were arriving from the city of Yogyakarta in south-central Java, ready to begin the final phase of our three-month Asian odyssey.

The map above is placed large in this report because it provides an excellent, uncluttered representation of Bali's topography.

Bali by Google

Bali is an anomaly in Muslim Indonesia; about 93% of the island's inhabitants are devotees of Balinese Hinduism - holdovers from the time of the Majapahit empire, a kingdom that stretched from the Malay peninsula across Indonesia's archipelago from 1293 to around 1500. Religion permeates the island's culture, seemingly holding a place far above life's more mundane considerations. Bali may be thought of as a select destination for gorgeous beaches, epic surf and stunning tropical scenery, but it was the art, history and pageantry of the ancient faith on such heartfelt display here that gave our island visit a special resonance.

We were grabbed outside the airport by the driver of a Toyota 4x4, who was happy to take us to the upland artistic haven, Ubud, for the usual Indonesian fair price. This was where we stayed first; an attractive central location from which to take various side trips, before spending our last travel days enjoying the ocean at Kuta Beach. Like all good taxi drivers he acted as both tour guide and expounder on world affairs as we drove through the green and tidy Balinese countryside. (He chose a route that skirted Denpasar, which was to remain a blank spot in our itinerary.)

In Bali, a villa can be a stone-and-glass marvel bolted onto a ravine wall with a cantilevered swimming pool floating above the jungle foliage. Ours was more modest. Up a hill, just west of town, it was one of a grouping of well-constructed, two-storey cottages; dark woodwork inside and a red-tiled deck cut inward under the top floor that served as the living room. The front yard rolled downward and outward, sheltered by tropical flora. Beyond that was a watery rice patty. We even had a small kitchen, although it was oddly located at the back of the house, only accessible from a separate outside entrance.

Ubud is at the latitude where the island begins to rise at a gentle but steady increase toward the northern mountains. Water that would flow swiftly back in deep ravines is attenuated and diverted by an ingenious system of ancient canals and earthen pathways criss-crossing the lower slopes, spreading the constant supply of tropical rain more usefully among the farms and fields before it reaches the ocean.

Fortunately, Bali is blessed with sharp sea breezes. All this slow-moving water exacerbates the usual tropical humidity, but it doesn't weigh as heavily in these green hills. The air is further freshened by tumultuous rainstorms that reliably cool things down every afternoon. So when it's not damp, it's very wet.

The picture to the left is evidence of a morning I spent with a fogged-up camera, so that's not actual steam in the air, only a representation caused by moisture finding its way on to the lens elements. A nice effect, sometimes, but I was sure glad it wasn't permanent. Those are prize roosters inside the bamboo baskets. Their crowing seemed to begin long before daybreak; perhaps they were protesting captivity.

Above: the neighbor's cow. From Kinaya Tours and Travel:

These amiable, beautiful creatures with long eyelashes, delicate features, dew eyes, manicured velvet coats, slender necks, trim bodies, slim legs, and short tails look more like fawns than cattle. Like most cows in the tropics, they give no milk. Unlike the Hindus of India the Balinese don’t consider cattle as sacred; they are bred for their meat and exported to other islands. Nevertheless, cows live a privileged life on Bali, lovingly bathed in village streams, billeted in cozy hay-strewn mangers, let loose on village lawns to feed.

Below: more animal news. We see evidence of a vexing crime problem; marauding gangs of ducks taking over the roads and devouring rice in a locust-like frenzy.

The ducks' road was the same we walked to town, an easy trek beginning in farmland fronted by discrete dwellings and occasional shops, down a curving hill to the stone walls and leafy abundance of Ubud. This is recommended as a daylight walk only. The lack of streetlights and sidewalks make the sharp curves dangerous at night.

Ubud's lively commercial district is easy to navigate with a dominant east-west thoroughfare and three running north-south, with many smaller connecting roads forming a rough grid pattern. You'll find banks, supermarkets and internet cafes, an outdoor market at the town center plus numerous galleries and shops selling local arts and crafts.

An upscale component, aimed at the gilded classes with attendant stratospheric pricing, thrives in the local economy - opulent restaurants, posh galleries, exclusive hotels. It can seem a little forbidding, but one can find plenty of places here that cater to more down-to-earth budgets.

South of the main business zone we found the famous Monkey Forest, a park-like enclosure so named for the creatures who live in great clans among the old stone ruins and enjoy the run of the place. Ubud central is relatively flat, but here the land folds up again into parallel ravines. A system of pathways and bridges guides visitors around the leafy terrain.

Can you guess which picture in this report wasn't taken by the author?

The main road going west crosses a bridge and then curves northward past public art galleries and design-intensive furnishing stores. We scored a couple of crazy, colorful lamps at The Design Unit and were then driven back to our villa in the shop's mahogany-appointed, open-air V-dub as part of the service.

One can spend hours or days wandering the museums and galleries in Ubud and become fully immersed in Bali's cultural history. I stumbled across a haunting installation at one recently-built gallery space. A memorial to the 2002 Kuta bombing, one entered a large blacked-out chamber, given only a flashlight to navigate between piles of sand and dirt, the torch beam inevitably falling across huge text-scrawled aftermath photographs and bits of wreckage taken from the terrorist tragedy.

Back in the town center, we could feel the gathering energy as the island prepared to cleanse itself from this most terrible year.

We had arrived in Ubud a few days before the Balinese New Year or Nyepi. This falls on the day following the first new moon after spring equinox - April 2 in 2003. The last day of the old year is called Tawur Kesanga and brings with it a wild evening celebration meant to chase away demons and renew one's place with God.

From Indo.com:

Exactly one day before Nyepi, all villages in Bali hold a large exorcism ceremony at the main village cross road, the meeting place of demons. They usually make Ogoh-ogoh (the fantastic monsters or evil spirits or the Butha Kala made of bamboo) for carnival purposes. The Ogoh-ogoh monsters symbolize the evil spirits surrounding our environment which have to be got rid of from our lives . The carnivals themselves are held all over Bali following sunset. Bleganjur, a Balinese gamelan music, accompanies the procession.

Ceremonial activity on the day of Tawur Kesanga includes the construction of out-sized papier-mache monsters, sacrificial offerings, musical processions and prayer meetings. We couldn't help but notice the proud bearing and perfect posture of the Balinese - long-limbed women and broad-shouldered men, this day dressed in traditional finery for the crucial festival.

As we walked back into town that evening we passed this stone stairway carefully adorned with fragrant frangipani flowers. This understated gesture seemed a symbolic counterpoint to the riotous spirituality that lay ahead.

The children marched first, gathering on the football field with torches and a monster they helped to build for themselves.

As night drew in, the main parades got underway. Whole clans marched together, their village monster held aloft, percussive Gamelan music reaching a fever pitch. The various village groups converged finally on Ubud's main intersection, filling the street space with a crush of revelers as outsiders like us watched in wonder from the periphery.

Balinese Hindus hold processions year-round, both in the day (see top picture) and at night, to observe the complexities of their faith. This was the culminating spectacle. We were lucky in the timing of our visit to Ubud.

This frog is a metaphor simile. That was us the next day, stuck to our house and keeping perfectly still for Nyepi, the day of quietude marking the new year. In traditional Bali, the first day is for profound stillness and even non-worshippers are strongly discouraged from engaging in outdoor activity.

On day two, action restored, we set out to find a scooter.

Change Of Season

I've put my camera down for the time being; concentrating blogwise on my travelogue series and, in the real world, taking a French course. I did happen to notice we've passed from high summer into the first glimpses of autumn. The September air in Montreal is bright and calm and a few leaves are already losing their verdure. (Verdure...I had to dig for that one.)

Soon the famous fall pageant of oranges and reds will be climbing the slopes of Mont Royal. While we're waiting, here's a shot I've always liked from the banks of Ruisseau Rouge in Magog, QC, taken last November.

Yogyakarta

March, 2003

This was the last stop of our motorized trek across Indonesia's main island, Java. We arrived in a mini-van shared with other western travelers, ending a day-long journey from the Indian Ocean beach town, Pangandaran, that included a slightly grueling, four-hour "cruise" through waterways collectively known as The Inland Sea.

Yogyakarta (yō-gyə-ˈkär-tə) is a sprawling city of about half-a-million, close to the geographical center of the island of Java. This is the capital city of the Special Region of Yogyakarta, the only province in Indonesia still governed by the area's precolonial monarch, The Sultan of Yogyakarta. The land rises north of the city onto green agricultural hills, then more mountainous terrain covered in forest and dotted with volcanoes. Thirty kms. to the south, the Indian coast runs in a more or less east-west direction.

Google Map

At first, Yogyakarta looks typical of other southeast Asian cities we visited - hot, polluted, teeming with street noise, an off-kilter medley of vehicles defying the basic concept of traffic lanes. A little time, however, and a closer look, reveals something unique, even special, to be pasted into one's mental travel scrapbook.
Planters along the sidewalks, outdoor cafes, funky business signs painted with artistic flair, an abundance of smiles - there was noticeable fun in the air and an openness to outsiders. This friendly feeling was dampened during our visit by world events, unfortunately. The Americans had invaded Iraq a few days before, unleashing public anger and vivid manifestations among the city's Islamic population. One afternoon, we were surrounded, then rebuked, by white-robed youth on the Malioboro sidewalk while witnessing one noisy march. I wanted to show sympathy and my Canadian passport, but the tension was dissolved when my friend spoke back to them in French. We didn't stick around and chat, but an incident was averted. I decided not to take casual pictures of the political uproar, thinking they might be cheap and exploitative. Of course, now I regret this decision.

Two pictures above, we see the becak, the chain-driven three-wheeled taxi famous to the city, carrying a local woman on her rounds. Directly above is a line of these along Jalan Malioboro, Yogya's "Main" street, including a driver on downtime smoking the ubiquitous (among males) kretek, or clove cigarette.

We stayed in the Sosromenduran district northwest of the Kraton (Sultan's palace), recommended in guidebooks as well-located and traveller-friendly. Our visit lasted only four days so I have nothing to report about other areas, but 'Sosro' lived up to its billing with an abundance of budget lodgings (and a couple of swank places), art galleries and live music venues. Yogyakarta is a university town - the buzz of intellectual life was ever-present in these narrow streets.

Clockwise from top left: one of the long pedestrian passageways dissecting the district; tower for broadcasting Muslim call to prayer; street food kept warm by light bulb; chronological device at train station.

We were frequently approached by aggressive touts promoting "student art". One clothing store manager elaborately took time away from his shop to lead us through alleys to the "studio" of his good friend where we were cajoled by a succession of amazing offers. No doubt, there are many fine, talented artists in the city, but what we saw was no more than mediocre dreck that might be found anywhere. The enterprise didn't quite make sense; number one issue being this was the work of "students" who were "well-known" but willing to sell their work for a song.

We never were intending to buy; we just allowed ourselves to be carried along - a traveler's diversion that meant we could say, "Been there, done that," to any subsequent entreaties. I don't know if this is still happening, but, if so, watch your wallet, kids.

Pictured above: the soft colors of Yogyakarta's market scene. In some cases, a market might be an ad hoc spreading of wares on blankets at unmarked sidewalk locales. Below: a diptych displaying two extremes of the botanic odor spectrum; the foul durian fruit and the frangipani, or plumeria, a flower with a sublime, almost mood-altering fragrance.

What's that? Borobudor? The immense 1200-year-old Buddhist shrine on every Java traveler's must-see list? We didn't go. Our plans were changing and we decided to cut our Yogya visit short, thus sacrificing our visit to the monument. On the afternoon before our next-morning flight to Bali, feeling something like tourist's guilt, we took a last-ditch bus ride to the entrance area only to be put off by mobs of sightseers, the steep price charged to westerners and also by the time of day. (Borobudor, we had read, is best seen at the breaking of dawn.)

Prior to this minor fiasco, I did find my way northbound to Kaliurang, sitting up close under the angry eminence, Mt. Merapi, a perpetually active volcano. This is another former Dutch hill station, where colonial masters would retreat to escape the tropical heat. The bus dropped me at a crossroads restaurant, where I had tea alone among the staff. Then I went walking.

Going one way quickly brought me to a nice park, full of field-tripping high school students posing and singing by a shimmering waterfall. I retraced my steps to the cafe and then followed an old road winding upward, thinking a view of Merapi would be around the next curve. Or maybe the next. It became a daunting trek, high above the town, climbing into fog. I was standing, finally, at a mighty gully, losing initiative, when the fast-moving clouds briefly gave way and for a moment the volcano revealed itself between two steep ravine walls.

I banged off these two shots: above, missing the peak but showing the vast lava fields; below, the only one of the mountaintop billowing steam and ash. The latter is not a great digital file - I was working fast in changing light - and it manages to be both under- and over-exposed in the same shot. So I rendered it in black-and-white to help save the image and preserve the moment.

Another volcano story. We were bailing on an increasingly stressful Java. Confirming our eastward itinerary with travel providers became fraught with uncertainty and confusion. It made sense at the time to fly straight to Bali from Yogyakarta and simplify the final weeks of our Asian junket. Our biggest regret was having to pass up the pre-dawn hike to Gunung Bromo (video here and here), a smoldering landscape of active fissures and baby volcanoes lying within a massive ancient crater in eastern Java.

My companion and I were two out of only eleven passengers on the airliner during the early morning flight to Bali. About halfway along the captain directed the passengers to the right side windows. He was flying directly over Bromo. We were being luxuriously afforded a sweeping, unobstructed view of the vulcan spectacle under a cloudless sky, albeit without the pony ride.