I am not on a bus, no, right now I'm on a balcony; and this balcony faces the Java Sea. Though the wind has blown out the waves, making afternoon surfing impossible, I'm content. I'm more than content. I'm staying at a surf camp in Balian Beach, on the western coast of Bali. The camp is run by the village, and all the money goes back into the village. Children come by to clean the beaches, they take pride in their small town. And they should- it's heavenly here. And not just in Balian; after two plus weeks in Bali, I'll admit it, I fucking love this place. I love the kindness of the people here: when we arrived, our driver took us to all of his favorite spots along the way from the airport to our hotel because we were in Bali "and should be happy." I love that we signed up for surf lessons, ended up surfing at a pro surf break (more about that later) with a Brazilian instructor, who was so excited that S and I are both half Brazilian, that we ended up hanging out with a community of Brazilian expats.
I love the colors here: the lush greens of every garden, the pinks and yellows and oranges of the tiny offerings everyone leaves in front of their home or business. I love the patterns and styles of sarongs that everyone tries to sell me. And the ones that line trees and statues throughout the island. I adore the loving details that go into every garden, door, and roof. I love the colors of the fruits in the market and the colors of every variety of tea available. I love how Jasmine grows everywhere here because it's a symbol for peace. And the smells. I love the smell of incense and essential oils that permeate every corner and the salt air that mingles with it when I'm by the sea. I love the smell of fresh nasi goreng (fried rice) which I've had about once a day...along with watermelon juice. I love the variety of fish you can ask to be grilled up for dinner. And I love their variety under water where every color and shape can be found. I love the names of places here- Uluwatu, Padang-Padang, Bingen, Kutu, Balian, Ciangu. And I love the names of people- every eldest born is a Putu, every second is Waygan.
I love the massages here, the yoga here, the surf, the organic blah blah blah that's for tourists but tastes so good. I love the thoughtfulness, and spirit of this place. All are welcome, it is everyone's job to make the world whole. You pray to the spirit of the sun, the ocean, and your parents. Black and white checked sarongs wrap around trees and sculptures symbolizing he duality of good and bad-it's your job to recognize them but but hopefully embrace the good. Yellow and white mean your mother and father, east and west, right and left- we must seek balance and honor where we came from, and where we are going. Red and white express the physical and spiritual, earth and heaven, war and peace, impurity and purity. I love that no matter how hot the sun is, there's always a delicious breeze to temper the heat.
And yes, there are the infernal pseudo yogi-types. And yes, there is a Aussie spring breaker contingent. And yes, if you drop in on a local's wave, you will get chewed out-true story. And yes, you will be asked multiple times on a daily basis where you are from, where you are going, do you need a taxi or will you buy this- it's good luck- I'll make it really cheap. But from where I'm sitting now, on this isolated, beautiful beach, facing roaring waves, I'm not gonna complain about a thing. But don't come here...there are enough tourists.
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