Bali: Braids and Goodbye

July 14, 2010

Alice hates brushing her hair because it feels so painful to her, and it’s taken a couple years for us to develop a nightly detangler spraying and brushing ritual in NYC. But, we dropped that ritual once we left NYC, feeling like lazy vacationers. Soon Alice developed a rat’s nest of a knot at the back of her that was the biggest we’d seen. After a while she was so nervous about getting it brushed out that she refused for anyone to brush it, sobbing when I tried once, insisting on waiting til Nanny came a couple weeks later.

One day in Bali, one of the many Balinese beach vendors yelled that she could braid Alice’s hair “very cheap, very cheap.” She clearly hadn’t taken a good long look at the nest. After much coaxing and negotiation over lunch, Alice returned to the braider who immediately started negotiating a more expensive price once she saw the rat’s nest. The braider called in a friend to help and they both went at the nest with sharp combs and patience, but first they grilled me how I could let my daughter’s hair get to this point. What kind of moms are these American women, they seemed to ask.

But, at least, I wasn’t an Australian mom. The braider said one Australian mom hadn’t been patient with her daughter’s rat’s nest and she just chopped it off with scissors. The Aussie brought her daughter’s butchered long hair in and asked that they repair the hack job by weaving the short into the long hairs for a braid.

Alice beamed from all the protective fussing over her, sitting in her plastic throne overlooking the sea for a full hour of hair work.

Bali: Life as a seaweed farmer on Nusa Ceninghan (Ceninghan Island)

July 12, 2010

To be fair, Ken would probably say that the worst part of the Bali trip was the overnite eco-tour to Ceninghan Island. In fact, I think he did say that earlier in this blog. The way he’s described it, is EVERYONE said Lembongin Island was a must-see, but Colleen insisted we go on an “eco-tour” to the neighboring island, staying with a village family rather than at a hotel. Everyone on our bamboo-balanced boat was going to Lembongin Island, but no one was going to Ceninghan.

And, that was the way he felt BEFORE we even got to the island. He dreaded the ocean boat ride, since he gets extremely sea sick. In fact, the last ocean boat ride we did in Costa Rica, I nursed Alice, Boom, and Ken while they all vomited. This boat ride, they all only felt nautious, thank god. Our affable Eco-Guide, Gede, was a bit confused by how completely uninterested and ill Ken was in response to the information he told us on the boat ride.

Once we arrived at Ceninghan Island, we were greeted by a few motorbikes, one driven by the woman who would be hosting us at the eco-tour village. Boom, Alice, and Grif’s jaws hit the ground when they saw that they’d be riding those motorbikes, and WITHOUT HELMETS! They freaked out. In fact, we all smiled giddily the entire ride to the island. The only way to get to and around the island was by motorbike because no cars were allowed on the island. We all quietly squealed as the motorbikes sped across a very rickety suspension bridge, barely wide enough for motorbikes, with many missing slats of wood.

Ken’s worst nightmare was realized once we got to the rooms we had, in the small village center. There were flies swarming our food. Bugs in our rooms. No air conditioning in the rooms, just a small fan in the sweltering heat. Despite the amazing fried banana snack, Ken was melting and thoroughly grumpy. The kids started speaking of New York City longingly, how there were no flies on the food and it was so clean there.

Then, we went for a snorkel, the kids’ first snorkel experience. While waiting for the boat, Gede showed us the seaweed and how it’s farmed. The island villagers used to be very, very impoverished about 20 years earlier, before they were taught how to seaweed farm. Now, other Balinese saw these seaweed farmers as relatively wealthy. They work from 6am to 6pm, resting on a bamboo platform next to the sea midday. Their wives string together long strings with small bits of seaweed tied onto the string, to be dropped back into the lagoon for regeneration. They harvest the seaweed monthly, laying it out to dry, then ship it off to other Asian countries, like Japan, who will pay the big bucks for seaweed. When we looked out onto the lagoon, seaweed fisherman walked through the lagoon with a small canoe attached to them by a rope, tossing seaweed into the canoe. It was a slow, meditative harvest.

We finally took the small boat out to a reef off the island, with no one around. The kids dropped into the water like they’d lived on a desert for a year. It didn’t matter that the snorkeling mask and tube were too big. Or that the current was almost too strong for them. They went crazy for seeing fish via snorkeling for the first time ever. And, the fish-filled reef was vast and so colorful. At one point, Ken and I held hands underwater, just pointing at the great expanse of reef. It was amazing.

We were new people when we got back in the boat. Even Ken was in a good mood. Our version of a Hindu holy bath. The trip had taken a turn for the better. I told Gede on the way back to the village that Griffin loves soccer, and he immediately laid the groundwork for a soccer game to happen among the boys back in the village. Boom was the goalie, butting out the usual village young goalie with a jolly smile, and Griffin was ecstatic. It was a spirited game next to the lagoon, with the older boys being very patient with Boom’s goalie rules – He’d yell “Time out!” then “Time in!”

When the game broke up, a bunch of the village boys walked away down the road, with badminton rackets in hand. Boom ran up to me saying “Can I go with them?” I couldn’t say no. Then, I sat there, watching him walk away, with some of the older boys guiding him to the side of the road when motorbikes came down the road. I eventually walked behind him to keep an eye on him, feeling kind of awkward about following him, like I would embarrass him, reminding his new peeps that he’s only 3 years old.

There were so many twists and turns in the road that I completely lost Boom and his boyz. Really. I turned up one alleyway, surprising a girl bathing nude. I came back to the winding road, hugging the coast, and blindly went further down the road, not sure if he was ahead or had turned up one of the many alleyways where I’d seen some boys turn. Finally, after starting to freak out, I found him and his boys laughing and playing badminton. Actually, the boy playing with Boom was laughing at Boom as Boom repeatedly took the badminton racket, missing each serve of the birdie, but insisting on endlessly repeating his serve saying, “No, I got it.” “I got it!” each time.

I turned and saw that two village adults had stopped on their motorbikes to watch Boom for me. When I arrived, they quietly left. That was the tenth time another Balinese adult had watched over my kids, without any fanfare, comfortably scooping him up to coo over him or filling my spot at a key moment.

They whisked us off yet again on motorbikes to see a sunset and more of the island. On the way, I made them stop when we heard gamelan music being played. There was a family cremation ceremony occurring, and they welcomed us in until they realized we had no sarongs. Yes, sarongs again! By this time, I wished I’d just bought $3 sarongs at the start of the damn trip and kept them in my back pocket. So, we sat outside the big family temple to listen to the family playing instruments and the priest chanting. When they took a break, they sent out their English-speaking family member who apologized warmly for our not being able to join the festivities. They then brought out treats, eggs, and fruit for us, feeling bad for our having to sit outside. Even when we’re the ones intruding on their family rituals, without sarongs, the Balinese can’t help themselves from being warm and welcoming.

Then we motorbiked to a cliff where swallows nested in a sea cave. These swallows nests were seen as very valuable to the Balinese, they were viewed as good for eating, settling your stomach, and played a role in spiritual rituals. They were so valuable that people from all over Bali used to come to these nest caves, repel down or boat into them, and take the nests. Now, the village has reclaimed the nest caves, claiming the nests as a natural resource owned by the village. The village pays young village men to guard the swallow caves round the clock now.

After a sweltering night’s sleep, or lack of sleep, (Yes, Ken was right!) I woke the next morning to yet another amazing meal by the woman whose rooms we slept in. I looked up from the breakfast table to see Boom having wandered down the street to sit with Gede and some villagers, chatting with and surrounded by them as if he was the Village Chieftan.

Bali: Luwak Coffee

July 10, 2010

A luwak is a small, cat-like mammal that loves to eat coffee beans in Bali. The beans ferment in their little bellies then they poop them out. The product is a fermented, pooped bean that is hot, hot, hot in the coffee market. Poop coffee, more formally known as Luwak Coffee, goes for $10 a cup in NYC these days. With trepidation, we were eventually convinced to try some poop coffee for a mere $5. Lo and behold, it was smoother and less bitter. No, really, they repeated often, the beans were thoroughly cleaned before roasting.

PS Don't worry, the picture of Griffin is not off his drinking poop coffee. It's just fresh hot cocoa he's drinking.

Bali: Volcano

July 10, 2010

Last time this volcano erupted was 1911. Even though the government told the villagers to move away from the volcano base, afterwards, the villages insisted on continuing to live next to the volcano. The villagers claim they know an eruption is about to happen when the monkeys start running away from the volcano. Agung says the villagers trust the animals more than the government.

Bali: Hindu Holy Spring Water Shrine

July 10, 2010

The Hindu Holy Spring Water Shrine, north of Ubud, is a mecca for many Balinese, most of whom are Hindu. They come from all over, believing that a bath in the spring water will turn their luck from bad to good. They also come to collect big bottles of the spring water for cremations, to wash the dead body to make sure the person’s soul goes to a good place, like to become a monkey rather than a roach in their next life.

Sitting in the heat, we all watched the adults, kids, babies, elderly go into the spring water pool, carrying flower petal and food offerings to the gods. Griffin watched them with envy then said he was going in. Then, like clockwork, Boom chimed that he was going in. Kenny hesitantly said he’d be willing to also. For the spring, sarongs were required. Agung rented each of them a sarong, so we thought we’d be in good with the “sarong police,” but no.

Right after the boys changed into the sarong, next to the pool, an unofficial village shrine police volunteer (see picture above of only unsmiling Balinese we ever met) came over with his compatriot and had the first heated discussion we’d seen in Bali. You see, Balinese place lots of cultural sanctions on displays of aggression, to the point that they have a tooth-filing ritual that files away 13 year olds’ canine teeth since they think they look aggressive. Even for the mildest disagreement, the Balinese person would just dissolve into giggles with us. But, these villagers were upset, and they let Agung know that we should not change clothes next to the holy spring pool. That was sacreligious.

Then, Grif, Boom, and Ken went in, with their sarongs on, with their underwear peeking out as their sarongs floated through the water. They started with the first of about 20 spring water fountains and systematically dunked their heads under each one, waiting in line for each subsequent fountain. Griffin showed me how they do it – first pray with your hands together, then stick your head under the water, completely.

At the end, they were thoroughly drenched and COLD, for the first and last time in hot Bali. But, Ken said the experience felt powerful. Griffin seemed calm and centered. And, Boom looked excited enough to jump a cannonball back into the holy pool. All 3 carefully dripped their way to the lockers and made sure they changed out of sight of the shrine police.

Children’s Balinese Dance Lesson

July 10, 2010

Of all their recommendations of what to do in Bali, Harvey and Mary insisted that we had to get the kids a Balinese dance lesson. It took some doing, but turns out the local Ubud kids have a dance lesson every Sunday morning at their village temple. Griffin refused to dance. He’d be the only boy, he said. It’d be too girly. He just plain didn’t want to dance.

Alice, on the other hand, was completely willing. Our guide, Agung, knew the dance teacher and asked if it was okay if the kids join in the village dance class, even without wearing sarongs. If you read our earlier cremation blog post, you’d know that we were completely clueless over when sarongs were truly required for proper religious respect, especially at a shrine. The Balinese dance teacher, well-known for his specialty in the aggressive male warrior dance, kindly said no sarong required and took our kids under his wing, often speaking in English, rather than the typical Balinese instruction, just so our kids would understand.

Alice, a bit nervous, joined with the girls for their dance lesson. All the girls in her class were either younger than her or the same age but shorter. Each time the female dance teacher would give a command, she’d physically demonstrate it, holding her arms and legs up high in an awkward, often twisted, position, moving her head and eyes from side to side, sing a little Balinese dance tune, then ask the girls to do it. Each time she told the girls to try it out, she’d carefully readjust Alice’s position. She made adjustments that we just couldn’t understand. It was like watching an American football player trying to learn ballet. The cracks in Alice composure started to show.

The boys walked in. Lots of boys in sarongs. I watched Griffin take them all in, noticing how athletic and cool they looked. After he had previously refused to dance (which led Boom to promptly refuse to dance), he was now willing. And, Boom said “Me too!” The instructor taught them little steps with the ultimate goal of acting out a fierce warror dance, with eyes shifting to the right as their bodies went to the left. Griffin tried so hard. Boom tried too, watching the teacher, and especially Griffin, carefully -- largely raising his shoulders and stomping in the same general direction as Griffin. Griffin and Boom looked more like Tentative Warriors than Fierce Warriors.

Then, they watched a senior boy get taught by the instructor. The senior boy is going to a Bali-wide competition, and he is Ubud’s entrant into the competition. Kenny and I got so caught up in watching Griffin and (laughing at) Boom that we’d forgotten about Alice, in her class in the adjacent courtyard. When we peeked in on her, she was sobbing by the side of the class, being comforted by a Balinese mom. Alice had freaked out when we’d left to watch the boys, not being able to find us. She sat out the rest of the class. Alice said she was “terrible” at Balinese dance.

In the end, Griffin had to be nearly dragged from the boy dance class, with the instructor pointing at Griffin saying, “That one has real talent.”