Bali, Bruises, New Jobs, the Middle Ages, Sprite, Rumpelstiltskin, and Oh, By the Way, Lydia is Awesome.

Let's start in order—Bali.

Bali's pretty cool. Everyone's nice and friendly and proposes marriage to you. They ask for your name and give you theirs, shake your hand and ask where you're from, tell you you're pretty and that they hope to see you again soon. Occasionally, someone will try to sell you something. But they don't compliment you, usually. They just try to sell it to you.


Bruises.

We went surfing and I got bruises on my knees, my hips, my head, my arms, my elbows, my everywheres. Not that you can see them. But they're there. Hiding. Invisible. This is because we went surfing
(more on that at "Oh, By the Way, Lydia is Awesome."). I also have very sore feet because at Jati 3, where we're staying, they have rocks arranged in beautiful patterns—beautiful, painful patterns. Now, if I'd wear shoes on occasion, I probably wouldn't mind so much.


New Jobs.

At Candidasa, one of the first places we stayed, I was given a new job. Every time Maria complained about not wanting to see this or that because we'd already seen some version of it somewhere else, we would threaten her with me. If she persisted, I would make a scene and "embarrass the family!!!!!" This is done, of course, for the simple pleasure of freaking Maria out about the family's honor. We have yet to put this plan in action though. Until then, Daddy will keep on yelling, "WE LOVE JUSTIN BIEBER!!!" at the mere mention of his name or, if no-one should mention his name, ingest an unfair amount of rice wine, beer, and alcoholic welcome drinks and be cheerful.

This only happened once at the Sagitarius restaurant. Needless to say, Maria was not pleased and spent quite an amount of time shushing him. I shushed him too, but so did the rest of us at some point or another. Maria just did it 3,019,823,783 times more.


The Middle Ages.

For years now, Ioan, myself, and our friend Eric have had a comic in the works. I've taken advantage of the less time (read as: no time) spent on school and have used it to work on various details—what Jenny looks like, who Theo is, details about the Elves and their tribes, Shades's history, and even *legasp* learning anatomy. Kind of. Barely. Frankly, I'm too turned off by the gigantic pile of failure me + full body is, so I don't too much try. But the moment I finish this sketchpad (soon, judging by the remaining three pages) I will try harder. Oh, but I have a vague idea of what their clothing is and I'm learning about the Middle Ages and their stuff, so I'm improving. But there is no way on earth that I will be learning architecture until I get home, so I haven't improved that much.


Sprite.

The We're Going Anyway family and I are, as you probably by now know, rather good friends who meet up occasionally. We met up yesterday with them and ate at Bendi restaurant again (which, after what just may be the shortest trip I have ever made to a bathroom ever, I don't want to visit ever again. Seeing paintings of boars... copulating... is in a lewd way, sorta funny in a family restaurant, but people? In the bathroom? Thanks, but no thanks). As usual, Meena Badeena, Tin Tin, and Snowy were congregating around Ioan and his miraculous iTouch before, during, and after eating. Then, when Ioan shut it off for a moment, they all came to me for my attention and to talk me into a really bad southern accent.

"Oh mah wurd, luck at that fleahwur ovur there in the midul of the table. In't that the durned purtiest fleahwur you done e'er seen afore? I think that's a real purty fleahwur. Oh mah wurd, and luck at that keeeeyout li'l gurl! Ain't she cute? Y'all kean thank wut ya lahk, but I thank that she just may be the keeyoutest li'l gurl I e'er seen in mah lahf."

You have no idea how many times they made me repeat that. Over and over and over again. And they still found it funny.

Ioan was slightly hurt by the fact that their interest in him extended only to his iTouch (you have no idea how much control he has over them just by threatening to permanently remove Aralon from their lives) and pointed out a fact that was glaringly obvious to us and not so obvious to them—iTouch on = Ioan. iTouch off = Ileana. If I'd have had my iTouch, they'd have divided their time between us, but Tin Tin had said that it was okay that I hadn't brought it.

Anyway, another glaringly obvious fact is that they are always so nice and quiet with Ioan (because they're watching a teeny tiny screen), but are so damn hyper with me (probably because with me, the only options are doing physical things. This is sad. I hate hyper things and physical activities. I was always the kid to sit down and draw, or come up with stories, or read, or watch TV, or chill at the computer, or something. That's why I never joined the softball team [that, and I am a baseball fan. Baseball. Why Ioan got invited to baseball in kindergarden and I did not, I do not know, but I have yet to forgive the elementary school's administration])

Another good reason why they were so hyper was because Ioan gave them Sprite. Which they never drink. Like, ever. For a reason. Because little kids + sugar = the apocalypse. It's simple math and yet the math whiz didn't see it. And he let them have quite a bit, the stupid monkey.

Thankfully, Ioan turned his iTouch back on and they left in peace with Tin Tin's shuffle, where I listened to Eva Cassidy for a while.


Rumpelstiltskin.

Ioan: Guess what?
Ileana: What?
Ioan: I have a name.
Ileana: Cool.
Ioan: And you will never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever guess it!
Ileana: Rumpelstiltskin.
Ioan: What? No!!
Ileana: *laughs*
Ioan: But you know, there's a giant gap in that story.
Ileana: What?
Ioan: How did she, out of all the names, pick Rumpelstiltskin? which, by the way, is not a recognized word.
Ileana: *blink blink* So, on the night of the second day, Rumpelstiltskin was dancing around the fire, singing about how the Queen would never guess his name because it was Rumpelstiltskin. And there's this guy, and he's in the forest and he's watching Rumpelstiltskin dance around and singing about how his name is Rumpelstiltskin. So he goes to the Queen and he tells her that the dude's name is Rumpelstiltskin.
Ioan: THEY NEVER TOLD ME THAT!!!


Oh, By the Way, Lydia is Awesome.

Well, she has to be, if the first time I managed to actually stand up on a surfboard and not fall on my butt I get off and sing "Look at me now. Look at me now. I'm gettin' paper~~~"

Yeah that's right, we went surfing :) It was so great I actually broke my self-imposed rule of no emoticons and stuck one in.

We had this instructor named Haki and he was really nice and asked a lot of questions about Romania. And I kept needing Ioan to translate for me, but he wasn't actually translating just giving the same advice.

But yeah, we had awesome fun and I will even break another habit—my reluctance to learn how to put photos in blogposts.

Before surfing :)

You do not believe how much I had to insist on this photo.

Look at that muscle definition!! Why can't I have muscle definition too? Do you realize how awesome my arms would be if they were toned? But no, I'm all soft and curvy.

Before

And after

Us with Haki—he loves you <3

A day in Ubud

One of the most interesting destinations in Bali is a place called Ubud. It was a small village in the mountains some eighty years ago, but now is counts around 80,000 people and nobody knows where it starts and when it finishes. In the 1920s it became a destination for Western artists and it continues to attract a lot of them. It was hard for me to imagine how we'd have any fun in a place so removed from the beach, but I loved it, it was great. We got here twice, spent more than a week altogether, and we did have a good time. It is a major touristic destination, some would argue that it lacks authenticity, but on the other hand, it is good to see some tourists every now and then.

If you only have a day, here is a suggestion for filling it up. Don't rent a bike, unless
you want to spend the rest of the day looking for it:

Most hotels have breakfast included, with several choices. Definitely go for the Balinese pancakes, they make them green. If you have your own kitchen, make some yourself:

Then, go out to the market. In the morning there are only a few sellers of artifacts, it is a good time to look at the produce and maybe taste one or two of the rice desserts (Balinese usually have that in late morning):

Then walk down the road to the Blanco museum.

A Spanish painter born in Philippines stopped here in the 50s, married a Balinese dancer and stayed for the rest of his life. The museum is constantly ranked as one of the best in Indonesia, and reportedly has more than 300 of his paintings. Even if he was compared with Dali, I don't think he comes close, but it is a beautiful setting, an interesting palace and there is a beautiful garden with some amazing birds (I challenge you to stop after taking the first hundred pictures).

The entrance, with the biggest signature in the world.

Pictures not allowed inside.

The artist's workshop, maintained by the family after his death in 1998

Panoramic view of the porch, much more homey than the house itself

The Bali Starling, critically endangered, is kept here, legally, in a cage. Your only chance to see it.
Only 24 birds were believed to exist in the wild in 2005

As you return to the center of Ubud, stop by the Museum Puri Lukisan.
In four separate buildings there is a lot of Balinese art displayed with good English explanations. It is nice, quiet and beautiful.

A few steps further, enter the lotus garden for a quick picture.

Then, at the main crossroad, there is some temple or royal palace, without any explanation. Take a look:

Oposite, there is one busy restaurant. The reason to stop here around lunch time is to try the famous suckling pig (guling celeng) - babi guling, the full dish includes a couple of slices of tender flesh and the crispy roasted skin, a couple of slices of spicy sausage, lawar, a spicy mixture of pounded meat, a touch of pig blood and vegetables, plus steamed rice and a couple of spicy vegetable mixes called nangka. I took home five casseroles, they put the spicy sauce in small bags and we only had half of one portion for the five of us. It is criminal.

Rest after lunch in the pool of your hotel


and around 4-5 pm take a trip to the monkey forest. The hundreds of macaques around would steal the show and distract you from paying much attention to the temples. But they cannot be visited anyhow, you can only get a glimpse of their exterior walls. The trees in the forest are fantastic.

Unofficial temple guardian

Official temple guardian

Waiting for dinner, just walk along the Monkey Forest road, visiting one or two of the art galleries or shops. There are many things of beauty on display, even though it is all for tourists. We enjoyed the Infinity Gallery by Stephen Max Reinhold. The link http://www.liquid-art-gallery.com/ comes now with a Google warning for malware, but that might be just Google. The exhibition is fantastic.

Screenshot of the website, I sent them a message about the Google warning

Alternative to the main street big time shopping

Dinner must be with roasted duck (bebek betutu). You have to order it the night before because it is marinated with fragrant herbs, spices and steamed for about eight hours in banana leafs. Once the duck is tender it would be cooked over charcoal for a bit. The Balinese usually have this over the festivals, it is a special meal, but the restaurants in Ubud would prepare it as a special feast for tourists. They give you the full duck, not like in Beijing, but we agreed that the roasted duck on cabbage made by our mothers in Romania is still the best.

Less then $20, but 5 times more expensive than an expensive dinner.

Don't linger too much, because by 8 or 9 pm you have to get to your show. There are many options available any day of the week, we certainly enjoyed ours.

If you have any more energy left, you can go to bed now.

Countryside, Ubud, Bali. Nice subject to dream about.

Parts of Bali

Selamat Pagi! (sell-ah-matt pah-ghee) Good morning!

We were supposed to have a vacation here. 

What, vacation from a vacation? 

We are traveling, this is hard work. When we started seven months ago (that long?) we were full of energy, eager to see, to experience, to accumulate sights and smells and sounds, to be free of past habits, only to make new ones. As time passed, we adapted to our new, simple ways, wearing the same clothes day in and out, taking care of them, and ourselves in the same time (you can’t go out in your pajama while your clothes are drying), eating whatever is available, sterilizing our water and learning about what is yet to come. And when we made the plans, we decided to have a vacation here in Bali. After Goa, where 10 days were not enough to gather some energy, we thought to have more time in Bali, two weeks vacation and two for visiting. If only! We hopped around like we couldn’t settle, the beach was nicer on the other side! But in this way we’ve seen more of Bali! And also some other places, that are not on this island, but for the sake of the blog, I’ll put them in Bali too.

How is Bali? Depends on where you stand: in the street it is touristic, in the rice terraces it is in a stopped time, in the dwellings it is traditional.

The gas station on the narrow streets of Kuta.

Street is a very busy place. Cars, motorcycles, tourists, hawkers. The sidewalk is very narrow, covered with tiles, and goes up (level with the restaurants) and down (at the stores entrances easier to bring merchandise in and the motorcycles.) At every corner there are men talking. The moment you enter their invisible circle, they stand up and shout: Taxi? Cheap price. Tomorrow? Maybe tomorrow? Sometimes they show you their car, big, with air conditioning. 

Next in line for your attention are the girls dressed in traditional garb, inviting you in their restaurants. Depending on what you’re looking for, you can choose from Indonesian to Italian, each with its own music, hoping to drown the noise of the street. The sound of the ‘no, thank you’ still clinging onto your lips, and you are asked in a sweet voice “Massage?” by the massage ladies. They flock on one spot, all in the uniform of their parlor. If you decide that you want a massage at some time, be prepared: they don’t have enough force to knead your muscles and they will bathe you in coconut oil.

Then there are the ticket sellers to the different shows of dancing or shadow puppets. 

The window shops are catching your eye with their colors and their fashion, their Buddha heads or ornaments, their paintings or batiks. The shopkeepers are asking us to enter, to look is free, maybe we will buy something. 

Kandak and I

Everybody is interested in our patronage, because we are tourists, we help them make a living. The cook from a Candidasa hotel started talking with me about everything, where are we from, family, education. Her name is Kandak and she has two children, her eldest always looking in the phone for a chat or a SMS (is it familiar?), her husband is a taxi driver, if we ever need transportation, could we call him? Here is his card. When we make eye contact, it is always followed by a business offer.

Alleys, paved with black and white mosaics, branching from the main street, are leading you to the different guesthouses, and behind them, to the rice terraces. These are everywhere on the island. Depending on the rice cultivar, they can have two (the traditional) or four crops a year. This is the explanation for seeing the terraces in different stages: muddy fields, covered in water with some green shoots, just green fields, or light green stalks with heavy seeds. The only place that we visited was Jatiluwih, a valley soon to be declared World Heritage. The water is captured someway up from the mountain and then makes its way from terrace to terrace to the end of the valley. Between the terraces that are close to the village, there are duck farms or cow sheds. People are walking on the side of the terrace and cut the grass with their hands, load it in a basket to take it home for the animals, to eat.

The dwellings are in a traditional style: the house, the outside kitchen, the temple, all enclosed by a tall wall with an ornate gate. 

The temple side of a house.

The religion is Hindu, and a woman is bringing offerings a few times a day. Always dressed nicely, in a sarong with a white lace blouse, carrying a tray with the offerings she goes around the house, incense sticks lit, placing a palm leaf basket with flowers and sweets in front of the main temple, small leaves with a few grain of steamed rice for every door, sometimes cups with arak (local brandy). 

She stops in every crossroad, taking the offering with elegant gestures from the tray, and then, with dance like movements, she places it in its intended space. Every important door is guarded by mossy statues, with red flowers on their ears. Sometimes they wear a checkered black and white sarong. 

Religion is a pervasive trait. It is what people have to do, if they want to continue to live here (or else the gods could punish them through earthquakes, eruptions, too much rain or too little). The new moon sparks a series of religious ceremonies, some at the temple (where they come with the whole family, the women carrying on their heads the beautiful woven baskets with the offerings) 

some at the beach. These ones are more elaborate, with musicians, with girls wearing palm weaved head-dresses, with the center stage moving several times, closer to the sea, in the end with a woman that falls into a trance. All of them need a gift of blood, solved elegantly with a cock-fight (because they don’t kill other living beings, as they believe they are their brothers and sisters on their way to Nirvana).

As Hindus, they cremate their dead, but nowadays wood is very expensive, so they will bury the body for 3-5 years, until there is a sufficient number of people. A slender pole with a small roofed platform for offerings marks their graves.

The temples are closed for those of a different belief, but from the outside they seemed to have a simple architecture. Two of them are surrounded by vicious monkeys who climb on people and steal bottles of water and eyeglasses (Ioan was one of their victims, but one of the guards helped to recover them). From a different point of view, they were quite cute, preening each other and educating their babies.

If we are to judge from what we’ve seen at the museum in Denpasar, everybody is living in a palace. The same kind of roof with a guardian high above, same heavily sculpted doors, same verandahs with a platform for daily activities as in the palace of one of their old kings.

Garuda protecting the house.

 Just that the everyday objects were replaced with exhibits in the museum: about weaving and the different types of cloth that they wear daily (from everyday to special occasions, from commoner to the royal house), 

or religion, explaining the ceremonies that surround an individual’s life. Manusa yadnya starts when the baby is in the womb, to purify him from unholiness and misfortunes, leteh, and to avoid temptations that bring disaster and death. After his birth it is repeated every 210 days.

They were explaining painted art, in the beginning as a religious branch, and after the discovery of Bali, as an exotic ground by western painters, the traditional style, like dark sepia paintings,

Painting of the fire dance.

 and the free for every imagination actual style. 

They have masks with characteristic facial features, like the Greeks, used in religious ceremonies 

and the shadow puppets, made from cow hide, cut, pressed, holed and painted. 

These are recognizable characters, following the same story, of the fight between good and evil forces, the triumph of good and the importance of the right behavior. The magic is given by the team: the master puppeteer telling the story, moving the arms and feet, flying the puppets between the flame and the screen; the musicians, watching his every movement, listening to his voice, punctuating the gestures with a snapped wooden sound; the apprentice, who rearranges the puppets and keeps them ready for the master. On the other side of the screen, the story in the Indonesian language is lost on tourists and their children are not charmed by the simple entertainment. The show is just a portal to a world that you have to know, is just a way to fire the imagination to weave a parallel between the stories of your childhood and the reality of a conservative society.

Kecak (ketchak) the fire dance, we saw it twice. It is the story of Ramayana in dance. Sita marries Rama and they go to her new home, accompanied by his brother. On their way, she is kidnapped by a wizard. Hanuman, the monkey-god saves her, setting the castle on fire. Rama doesn’t want to accept Sita back, because she might be unclean, so she purifies herself through fire.

The first time we saw it we were in Yogyakarta (Jog-jakarta) in a big amphitheater, having as a background the Hindu temple Prambanan (Prahm-bah-nun). 

Prambanan and the gambelan orchestra.

There were many dancers, sewed up in elaborated costumes, shiny and colorful (for a tighter fit). The gambelan orchestra was playing, a man was singing, and the dancers moved their hands according to mudras and their eyes according to moods, telling without words about the great love of Rama for his wife, about the brother’s concern in leaving her without protection (Rama was tricked into following a deer, and after a first attack, the brother went for help), her anguish in being in the evil’s hands.

Rama says good-bye to Sita, while the brother guards.

By showing Sita the ring of Rama, Hanuman convinces her that he was sent by her husband.

Rama shooting the deer.

Prambanan temple by daylight.

The second time we were at a temple in Uluwatu. In the middle of the stage a snake like brazier was lit, blessed and then surrounded by fifty men, red hibiscus flowers at their ear, naked torsos, black and white checkered cloth hold in place by a red sash. 

As one, the overture started, keeping the rhythm saying chuk, moving their bodies and hands, while one of them was telling a song story. These men were the orchestra, the story teller, the decorum, the figuration in. At  one sign they made a magic circle around Sita, to protect her from evil forces, at another they broke up. A note send them on their feet, moving their hands up in the air, another one, running around on the stage.

The brother makes a magic circle around Sita.

In the end they invited us for a picture: