“Tear a my car seat”

Mornings in Bali have kept a constant familiarity during our stay. Daylight breaks with the sounds of roosters crowing wherever we go. And oftentimes there are doves about cooing a repetitive lyric. Other birds twitter, crickets chirp and the occasional gecko announces its presence with its own name, “Geck-o, geck-o…” It’s a pleasant symphony to wake up to. On Sunday, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at Sari Bamboo with our oh so delicious Bali coffee. The beans are ground to a fine powder to which hot water is added. No matter how strong you make it, even beyond espresso, the flavor is smooth and robust, never harsh or bitter. No cream required, just a spoon or two of sugar, if you like. It’s a delightful ritual.

We drove north of Ubud to Lake Batur, another crater lake at the base of the volcano (or “gunung”) of the same name. It is the most active of Bali’s volcanoes and frequently issues minor but noisy eruptions, they say. The lake is rimmed by a high ridge making for spectacular views from the main road that follows it. Like all roads in Indonesia, nearly all livelihood and settlement is situated at the shoulders, except for fishing and farming. We stopped for lunch at a ridge top restaurant offering a diverse buffet and tables along the glass walled scenic side. We drove a little farther and visited the Hindu temple at Pura Ulun Danu Batur. Again, those of us in short pants or skirts were given sarongs to wrap and cover our legs. At every stop we made this day we were besieged mostly by children eager to sell us postcards, small carvings, or jewelry. It felt awkward and induced some measure of guilt to avoid eye contact, say a firm “no thank you,” and keep walking. They would ask, “Where you from?” and do their best to engage you in conversation. To respond would only fuel their fervor and persistence.

Having seen this very ostentatious temple, we retraced our route to one of the most favored places of tourists and most photographed: the steep terraced green rice paddies just north of Ubud. We stopped for tea at one of the many ridge top cafes opposite the neat rows of terraced fields.

We returned to Ubud, did a little shopping for souvenirs and then drove south to a village so small it’s not on any map we saw. It’s where Aron, Hapny and Sofie live in a pretty tile-roofed house hidden behind a high masonry wall and metal gate, offering both privacy and security. We were there briefly to drop things and pick up other things they needed. Next we drove a short distance to the only restaurant in the village, a place so inexpensive that their family dines there nearly every evening. As promised, it was perhaps the best meal of our journey; and, no surprise, because the owner and chef, a local Balinese man, had lived and trained at a fine culinary academy in London. For roughly $15 total, the five of us dined on fresh grilled fish, chop cay (mixed vegetables) and rice. As on this night, Aron said they frequently were the only patrons present. So we wondered how our host managed to stay afloat. The setting was pleasant as well with a gurgling fountain spilling into a small decorative pond of koi and catfish.

And now, the riddle of this journal entry’s title: “Tear a my car seat.” Say it and you have just spoken a useful Indonesian phrase, “thank you.” [lysf]