Bali is Rice

I was eavesdropping (eavesreading) Marissa's facebook correspondence and thought that she said "rice" instead of "nice" and it was too good to pass up. Also forgive if there are and stray colons or semicolons: I'm writing this at the Pondok Pekak lending library, a place I love, but the keyboard is a little fussy about wanting to include all types of punctuation when I just need one.

So yes, Bali really is rice. Every meal and every where, rice rice rice. But I actually came here today to talk about how 1.) everyone is really nice in Bali and 2.) bad that last post was in terms of details. I mean, come on, I forgot to mention the wonders of bucket baths twice a day, squat toilets, the fact that the beaches I've been to are black sand, with gigantic waves that break basically vertically and actually make swimming legit dangerous, and the super-cool toke, gigantic lizard that actually says what the Balinese hear as "to-kay!", but we westerners hear as "gecko". Cool stuff. So yeah, bad Juje on that one. But I have a great excuse, and one that involves lots of squat toilets: traveler's diarrhea, which was making me behave irrationally, feel tired, and... well, you saw the name. But thanks to the power of wide-spectrum antibiotics and rest, I'm back on top of everything, here to tell you about life south of the equator.

This bout of ill health unfortunately coincided with move-in and adjustment period at the new homestay, the house (well, Balinese compound, so a really big collection of single rooms and pavilions and assorted temples/shrines housing the entire extended family) of a wonderfully sweet family, an elementary school teacher and woodcarver son and sisters and everyone. They were great people and I feel very guilty about what happened next, but you can blame/thank Ary and geography. That compound was located way too close to the main road through Bedulu, so every night at four in the morning (actually all the time, although there was once a break at three in the morning) big trucks would come speeding down the street and, in my sleep-deprived and sick state, sounded like freight trains going by right next to the bed. Combined with being sick, I wasn't doing so hot (actually the day I wrote last), and Ary asked what was up. I said I was sick and not sleeping, so she went and visited the house, decided that it was too loud, and told me to move over my protests about "staying one more night" and "feeling bad." Because, you see, this was a first time homestay family, and they were really excited, and it wasn't their fault. But I did move, and now I am healthy and sleeping and in a really nice huge compound (really nice, all green and jungly and Bali architecture-y) with a fun new family that likes to make fun of me. Just like home and college! More on them as the days go on, because I have to go get a muffin.

That's right, muffin. I found the muffin place in Ubud, a blatant expat hangout called Bali Buddha that hits just the right balance of expat comfort (jazz, western food, International Herald Tribune), Balinese vibe (laid back, open air, thatch roof) and not-too-hippie sensibility (organics and recycling). All in all, bagus as we say here to pretty much anything when we don't know the English. It loosely means good. And they were playing David Fathead Newman's "Hard Times" when I last went there, which ensures them a repeat visit.

In the mean time, we're learning and things. I'm about to start an arts project, probably gamelan or woodcarving or both, and we've got another temple festivity on Saturday. I'll be sure to keep everyone posted. In the mean time, keep doing your things all over the world, and I'll be doing my thing right here. Also, if you want something from Bali, it'll be really cheap, so send me an email and I'll work on it.