Getting Spoiled in Paradise

Adam and I fell in such deep love with Bali when we visited five years ago that I was secretly bracing myself for serious disappointment during this trip. However, Bali has more than lived up to our expectations—and perhaps even exceeded them.

After my mom and Aloni left, we decided to take advantage of the time to relax, let the kids get caught up on long neglected school work and take a break from the hectic travel pace. We are staying in this charming cottage that belongs to a friend of my Dad and Carolyn’s. It’s situated in the middle of the rice paddies in a village called Penestanen—a 10 minute walk from Ubud, the artistic and cultural center of Bali. It has a beautiful coy pond and the kids sleep on the porch outside on a big bed with a mosquito net.



For an incredibly reasonable $100/week that includes the cooking and cleaning services of Ilhu, a lovely Balinese woman who often comes with her adorable three-year old son, it is the bargain of the century and we will undoubtedly have a hard time leaving.















Bali is blessed with astonishing beauty. Apparently, when Balinese people are asked what heaven looks like they always say “like Bali.” Though 95% Hindu (as opposed to the rest of Indonesia which is Muslim) their practice is unique and intricate, with rituals and ceremonies for everything imaginable. There are little offerings of flowers and banana leaves everywhere you go—even on the ground in front of some little snack bar and on the dash board of the cars. They believe deeply in reincarnation and the ceremony surrounding cremations is the most joyous and elaborate of all celebrations.


We had the great fortune of happening upon one as we saw hundreds of people marching in procession with elaborately decorated floats (oddly some with advertising for local merchants) down the street dancing and singing. The floats were carried on large bamboo sticks by hundreds of men dressed in sarongs who were singing and laughing and would occasionally stop and spray each other with water (apparently to confuse the evil spirits, but with 90 degree weather and serious humidity, there was an obvious side benefit). Upon arrive at the cremation site, there was a long and careful ritual in which offerings and blessing were placed among the body inside a giant paper mache bull (a black one because apparently the deceased was of a high caste). Then, the bull is set aflame and the crowd watches as the whole contraption is burned. This is no solemn funereal scene—it is a relaxed and joyous event in which the entire town participates and they didn’t even seem to mind the throngs of white folks standing around observing. One of the striking things about Balinese Hinduism is that, even though almost everyone you meet is devout and exceedingly proud of their religion, they are pleased to welcome foreigners in to experience it without any judgment or stiffness. It is as though they know they have found the answer to life’s mysteries and they are anxious to share it with anyone who is willing to experience it for themselves.

Bali seems to be one of the few places on earth in which I can truly relax. So here is my rough daily schedule: Wake up after a solid nine hours of sleep (unprecedented in my previous life in which five or six is normally my max); observe amazing view of the rice paddies; go to yoga class; kiss children and husband; have breakfast; make complex and vital decisions (which style two-hour massage should I get for $10? should the body scrub be jasmine or green tea? The flower bath frangipani or spice?); remind Adam to make sure the kids are doing their homework; have lunch; read a book; write some blog entries; eat dinner; sleep. Rough life, huh? I feel a little guilty about all of this indulgence, but it is all I can do to muster the energy to answer emails or plan a few days away at a beach. I am clearly a shadow of my former self.

Bali is not immune to economic difficulties and the tourist industry—their main source of income--took a huge dive after the bombs in Southern Bali in 2002 by Muslim extremists. Given the pervasive sense of peacefulness that exists on the island, the bombings left the Balinese in a state of shock and disbelief. Tourists are finding their way back, but one result of this is an over abundance of hotels and other amenities. This has led to the only small annoyance on this otherwise idyllic island--the transport “touts” who are positively ubiquitous. As you walk through town you are constantly greeted by smiling (presumably unemployed) Balinese men yelling “Yes, transport? Maybe tomorrow?” while making the apparently universal taxi signal (two hands pantomiming a steering wheel). This has actually become a family joke and we contemplated making and selling t-shirts which say “No, transport” on the front and “Not tomorrow either” on the back—which would undoubtedly sell like hotcakes.

We finally did manage to plan a little vacation from our vacation from our vacation and spend a few days on the East Coast of Bali in a sleepy little town called Amed. We found a little hotel called the Dancing Dragon which billed itself as a “Feng Shui boutique hotel” and I could not resist. It was a nice little place with bungalows over looking the Lombok Straight of the Bali Sea with great snorkeling directly off the steps from the pool and wreck of a WW2 Japanese boat just a few kilometers off for even better underwater sites. We watched the sunrise both mornings—a site that us Californians don’t get to see much. It felt like we were at the end of the earth and we were the first people to see the world come alive.

All in all, Bali continues to be my quintessential image of paradise. Adam and I have been plotting how we could possibly manage to come back here for two weeks every year. Then we woke up and realized we might actually have to get jobs at some point, unless of course, the t-shirt business takes off.