On Monday, Kiki and I parted ways. I wanted to spend my last few days in Bali by the sea, and she preferred to stay in Ubud. It felt good to get on a bus again and to be back in motion again, glimpsing gorgeous bits of green countryside along the way. My quest was to find an inexpensive bungalow in front of the sea where I could read, write, and reflect in a peaceful place before I got on the plane to Thailand on November 15th. Little did I know I’d only end up in constant motion.
I arrived in Padangbai and instantly wanted to leave. It’s a small fishing village with an overlay of tourism, and to my eyes, not particularly attractive in either aspect. No doubt it would be a nice place to spend some time, but it did not fit what I was looking for. It was too late to leave again, so I spent the night in a rice barn-like structure made entirely from bamboo and palm thatch. It was quite extraordinary to wake up in morning and see the light streaming through all the cracks and holes in the entirely organic structure. In the morning I went straight to the internet to find out if I could change my flight to allow me the extra days necessary to make the trip to the Gili Islands off Lombok. Impossible. So I gave up my Gili dreams, and found myself hiring a driver to take me to Amed, on the north and east coast of Bali, allegedly a peaceful bit of coastline with good diving and snorkeling.
Amed is very rocky, hot and dry. It's the sort of place where you see goats meandering through arid fields of volcanic rock. The people I met moved slowly, spoke slowly, and appeared almost expressionless, so much that I would wonder if I’d been understood. Everything moves slower in this part of Bali, which is much poorer than other regions. The main sources of livelihood are tourism and the back-breaking work of harvesting sea salt. The region is in the shadow of Gunung Agung, Bali’s sacred volcano which towers 3,000 meters high. In 1963, it blew its top, throwing lava down upon entire villages and killing nearly 2,000 people, and cutting off the region from the rest of the island for some years. This history of devastation and isolation could perhaps help to explain the impassive faces I encountered.
The coastal bit is very spread out and sleepy and tends to attract tourists with their own transport, either young people on motorbikes or older European couples with rental cars. Somehow I did not let this faze me, even though there is no shuttle bus and public transport is complicated and my time quite tight with a flight to make on Thursday evening. After weeks of being offered transport all day, I figured I’d find a way back.
I ended up at a lovely place called Waeni's Sunset View Bungalows, which is perched on a hillside, with a gorgeous sweeping view of the bay, a rocky beach of volcanic stones filled with jukung, the traditional fishing boats. Only the very tip of Mt. Agung was visible, peaking out from the clouds. My room featured a terrace complete with a comfortable daybed. It seemed exactly what I was looking for, until the day wore on and I realized that it was Really Very Hot in Amed. And there was construction next door. And there were flies everywhere.
To escape, I decided to go underwater and finally use the snorkeling gear I’ve carted around Bali. The water was surprisingly clear, the fish surprisingly colorful, and the current surprisingly strong. It’s been a while since I’ve been in tropical waters, so it was like greeting old friends whose names I’ve forgotten. Hello Parrotfish, Hello Snapper, Hello yellow and orange fish, Hello pretty black fish with iridescent blue spots, Hello Moray Eel, Hello big ugly fish whose name I used to know, Hello little silvery fish swirling around in a school.
There were these small bright blue and green iridescent fish, tinged with yellow, who schooled along the bottom. Above them, loads and loads of larger yellow and black striped fish swarmed like bumblebees of the sea. The yellow and black fish stretched out as far as I could see, receding into the distance like a mirage of small yellow shimmery things against the deep blue of the sea. I tried to stay as still as possible to get close to these fish, positioning myself between the yellow/black fish and blue/green fish, floating among them like a log.
Once on shore again, it remained oppressively hot and my fan quite feeble in the face of it. It was impossible to be comfortable outside of the water, making it difficult to do the reading/writing/reflecting I had intended to do. I kept waiting for it to cool off with darkness, but the only tolerable time of day was dawn, so by 7 am I had made up my mind to go elsewhere, either in search of cheap aircon or back to Ubud for my last night. I hadn’t planned to be moving every day, but I desperately needed a breeze, a rainstorm, or air-conditioning. And did I mention the flies?
I was feeling indecisive, also wanting to go diving, but a little unsure since it had been a couple of years, and not sure how and when to arrange transport, when Ketut from Eco-Dive called. He solved all of my problems in 5 minutes: I could dive the Tulamben wreck and do a refresher course at the same time; the price was reasonable; it would be just me and a dive instructor; they’d pick me up in 2 hours; and yes, they could provide transport to Ubud for a reasonable price after the dive. Eureka, dilemma solved.
However, it quickly became apparent that I had broken the unspoken rule that the tourist must show loyalty first to the place of accommodation in the hiring of other services. I’ve done it before in Ubud by hiring a driver from the street, rather than going through the guesthouse, and I was subtly reminded that I was not supposed to do this. But the guesthouse prices are always higher since they get a cut. I have learned (today for instance, arranging my airport transport) that one can get a better price by subtly playing the two against each other.
But in Amed, Made (number 2 in birth order) was not happy with me. I was leaving a day earlier than planned and I had hired transport from outside. Could I not just go with her brother to compensate for the fact that I was leaving early and she would lose income? And did I know that Eco-Dive was her ex-husband’s business? The not-so subtle guilt trip was annoying, but I told her that if she could sort it out with Eco-Dive and guarantee me the same price, I’d be happy to go with her brother (later it turned out to be her cousin who showed up instead).
A couple hours later on the beach at Tulamben, I was introduced to Ketut (a different one, number 4 in birth order), my cigarette smoking dive instructor. He is a relaxed, smiling, Speedo-wearing guy with an eagle tattooed on his chest (“because I like to be free”). We did our first dive to a coral wall, paddling out from the beach. It took me some time to relax and feel comfortable underwater. My chest felt tight and my breath restricted, until I realized that my BCD was buckled too tight. We saw some beautiful soft corals, loads of colorful fish, a stingray, jack fish, loads of angel fish, and an amazing yellow sea slug called a nudibranch.
After the dive, he motioned for me to hop on the back of his motorbike and we were off (I’ve refrained from describing the number of times I’ve hopped on the back of a motorbike with strange men in Bali so as not to worry my mother). He took me to a nearby restaurant, and unsure of the etiquette, I invited him to join me, but he just laughed it off. Then, as I asked him about his children, he gestured to the kids playing in the back – it was his family’s restaurant. His two sons ran over, going straight for his shorts pocket, extracting their father’s wallet and a few thousand rupiah. They ran off and returned minutes later with packets of noodles. The younger of the two ran around, smiling and giggling and Ketut said, “Him, he’s always crazy like that. He drinks Coke all day!”
After lunch, we headed back to the shore. Minutes later the two boys showed up with snorkel gear and carrying their 2 year old sister piggyback. She was delighted to see her father and toddled with ease down the rocky beach (no small feat) and plopped herself down in the shallows with a big smile on her face. Waves were breaking over her shoulders and she just smiled and chortled with glee, delighting in her father’s attention and completely unfazed by the waves that were knocking her about. It was bliss in its purest form: a fearless two year old enveloped in the joy of feeling the waves and her father's undivided and beaming attention. The two boys jumped in, snorkeling around. Later, when we returned from the dive, Ketut gave each of his sons a mini-dive around the shallows, each taking a turn breathing through the spare regulator.
