Biking through Bali

Roosters howled like wolves sucking helium, once again waking me with the first rays of morning. As I stared across the rice patty, swirling the last mucky sludge of coffee grinds in the bottom of my cup, Darma walked onto the patio to say hello and lead me to the van to begin my bike tour. I was excited to see the countryside beyond the city but was a bit disappointed to hear that the bike ride would be almost all downhill when I hoped for a bit of a workout at least. I sat in the back seat next to Anna and Claire, two older ladies from Sydney then another American lady in her sixties joined us later as well as a middle aged Australian couple from Brisbane…of course I took the retirement village tour. They were all very nice and we talked about Bali and traveling as the van drove down narrow streets past zipping motorbikes. Darma began talking from the front seat, pointing to his small village out the window as we passed, proudly announcing that the soon to be release movie Eat, Pray, Love was filmed here not long ago then moving on to explain how the family compounds work in Bali. Darma is the youngest son in his family and therefore holds the responsibility to take care of his parents and siblings as the leader of the compound. In western cultures it seems that the oldest usually takes this responsibility but it makes sense that the youngest who is spoiled most and will most likely live longest should oversee the family community, it also forces the older siblings to respect the younger one and not pick on him since he will be taking care of everyone later. So Darma was given his name as a reminder of his duty to serve along with his name Ketut which indicates his position as third born in the family. There is no family name or last name in Balinese culture, all identity culminates in the family compound which is why everyone must get along and follow the rules or risk being expelled. Darma experienced this dilemma earlier in his life when he studied in Java and wanted to stay, he could have built a life there and maybe married a Javanese girl but this would have cost him his place in the family, he would have been banished with no sense of home and nowhere to be buried when he died. He had the responsibility to be the leader of his compound so he returned to build a life there. He explained that it isn't always easy to get along with so many people living closely together, with a wide smile he described how he had to act as mediator between his wife and mother since they did not get along. He convinced his wife to go to school and become a teacher to escape the compound a little while each day which his mother saw as contributing to the family and in return his wife learned that she needed his mother to take care of the children while she worked. It is simple a duty for everyone to get along, smile no matter what and be kind to everyone. Bali is land ruled by karma and you can feel it as you walk down any street, you can see it in the perpetual grins across each face on the sidewalk, everyone obligated to be as kind and nice in this life as possible or suffer the consequences in the next. It is an interesting concept because even if you are in the worse mood but you can force yourself to smile, usually you can't help but feel happy, so no wonder the Balinese are such cheerful people.

Our first stop was at a small plantation that grew everything from bananas and papayas to vanilla and cinnamon, tea and coffee. Darma who used to be a farmer explained some herbal remedies for a stomach ache using a special leaf he didn't know the English word for then described the benefits of turmeric for all sorts of aches and pains. He demonstrated the difference in male and female coffee beans, the male with only a single round bean inside the slippery pod and the female with two beans inside. I sat overlooking a deep revine filled with banana trees and rice terraces as I waited to try Café Kerak, a special coffe made from the poop of a civit or kerak. The kerak eats only the best coffee beans skin and all, digests them and ferments them then poops them out in long skinny strands which someone finds, washes, dries and grinds into coffee. The coffee has a nice mellow flavor with very little acid, pretty tasty for poop juice but I have definitely tasted better coffee in my life.Soon we stopped again for a lovely banana pancake breakfast with a stunning view of the two volcanoes frosted with fog in the distance before hopping on our bikes.

The old ladies fumbled with their helmets and wobbled as they lifted their stiff knees over each side of the bike. The road gradually slanted downhill into a minefield of potholes and gravel perfect for our nicely equipped mountain bikes. I suppressed me longing to glide down the hill popping wheelies over the holes as I tailed the lady in front of me who held a death grip on her hand breaks the whole way down. I don't think I peddled more than a minute the entire three hour coast but my hands got a good workout trying to go slow enough to not run into the person in front of me. I eventually relaxed into the slowness and was happy to see that people were starting let ease off the breaks a bit by the end of the second hour.

As the tour continued we stopped to watch an old lay split bamboo into strips which a young girl skillfully wove into a mat while keeping a sideways glance on a chubby marble eyed baby playing with a yellow tape measure. We looked inside the dimly lit compound kitchen where some type of stew sat in a large cast iron pot over oven flames, spider webs hung in clumps from the ceiling and the corners of the tiny room were padded with empty cans, plastic bags and rotting food. We walked past the family temple and watched as the oldest and most respected lady of the family wove bamboo mats with crinkled old hands, glancing up quickly with a happy toothless grin.She was old enough to not know how old she was since no one kept records of birthdays years ago. Darma explained some important rituals that each child goes through at particular stages, first when the baby is born the placenta is saved and it is the father's duty to wash it properly, place it in a coconut shell and burry it under a rock in front of the main house in the compound. When the baby is once month old it is allowed to enter the temple and is baptized to clean the body and spirit. The next ceremony comes when the baby is three months old where a priest shaves his hair since it is considered unclean and is finally allowed to touch his feet to the ground, connecting to the earth and receiving a name. Families celebrate this event with a suckling pig, honoring their child and wanting the best for him. Then when the child reaches puberty another ceremony is performed to file down the canine teeth so that the six front teeth are all evenly in one line, symbolizing renouncing anger, greed, arrogance, drunkenness and other sins. This ceremony is critical for every person even if they have already died since a soul cannot live in peace without it. Lastly when a person dies the family saves and saves their money until they have enough to give the family member a proper cremation ceremony in a gesture of honor and respect. This again is the youngest son's duty and sometimes the family member has been buried for years before they can afford a cremation, if there was not enough money for the individual to have their teeth filed earlier in life he or she must have their teeth filed before they are cremated to ensure that they will reincarnate into a desirable being. The amount of respect and honor the family shows for each member is unbelievable, just the effort and money dedicated to celebrating the life, maturity and death of one individual is an incredible demonstration of unconditional love and duty to the family. When I think about it, this love is evident on every shop corner where a young mother teases and adores her little baby, never letting it leave her side, and with all the babies in this town I can't remember hearing even one cry. The intertwining of religion, family and culture in Bali was very interesting to learn and a great experience to see how a family operates within their walls. I have seen a glimpse of this as well from my room in the homestay, walking buy kids playing together on their front porch as old ladies silently work from their perch on the stairs.

Beautiful little villages passed by framed by compound stone walls and punctuated by temples around every bend. A Hawaiian looking guy with a wavy pony tale down his back sped by on a motorbike as the little girl in his lap waves and said hello. The streets rung with a chorus of hellos and the percussion of flapping wrists as every little boy and girl in town yelled "hallo hallo" from ditches, front porches, and even behind walls. Smiles echoed around every bend in the road, a mother waved her babies fat hand teaching her to say hello, toddlers wobbled behind puppies singing their part of the chorus, groups of little girls with long silky black hair giggled "hehe hello" as the boys raced to the side of the road to reach out their hands for a passing high five. Balinese kids are seriously the most adorable children I have ever seen with their huge Hershey's kiss eyes, perfect black hair, glowing tan skin and never ending smiles. Happiness bubbled out of me with every hello, high five and wave, complete bliss coasting down the tiny lane between rugged stone walls and lush green tropics, a crisp breeze brightened by the pulsing heat of joy. We ended the tour under a huge ancient tree with roots blindly searching for the earth below. A delicious buffet of fried rice, tofu, tempeh and vegetables waited in the open air restaurant as rain began to mist down on the banana leaves outside the shelter of the thatched roof.I was charged with happiness, even more in love with Ubud and Bali, the culture and the people.